


Lucky Cat

by ozomin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, Hybrid AU, M/M, Original Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozomin/pseuds/ozomin
Summary: A lonely second prince meets a lonely god.





	Lucky Cat

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the Xingdae Fic Fest (Round 1) organized by Xingdae Café.
> 
> Self Prompt.
> 
> Hello, this started as a really small idea and I had fun watching it grow so much (despite the brief breakdown) but otherwise I hope you enjoy ;;

Yixing was on the cusp of five when his mother, the emperor's fifth wife, told him that he was born beneath the sign of the cat. He had puffed out his cheeks and asked to be born a sheep. All the strong warriors he'd seen passing through the palace were born under the sheep, the ones that lead the royal guard anyway. He'd wanted to be just like them when he grew up.

For the next five years, Yixing would pluck the wooden carved sheep masks from the trunk brought in as gifts from his mother's relatives and the other families of the emperor, leaving the hollowed cat against the panels. He'd lie and say he was born beneath the sign of the sheep when other children would ask even if the dates never matched up. His mother would play along, call him "little sheep."

"Run along little sheep," she'd say nudging him towards the palace proper where an instructor would teach him calligraphy and mathematics skills that afternoon. For these were when Yixing was at his most stubborn, enough so the instructor would say maybe he was born beneath the sign of the ox instead, for his unyielding nature. Instead Yixing's favorite lessons were the music lessons, where his instructor would give him the silk string zither, and Yixing would pluck at the delicate strings to his heart's content. Only then would he forget all about the twelve faith system that plagued a status he wasn’t even completely comprehending in lieu of reciting the old operatic scales and simplified festival music.

Yixing is fifteen when he witnesses the emperor's spiritual advisor usher in the new age of the guidance sign. 

He'd been hoping for months, after begrudgingly accepting, but not really, his status as a cat and he was frankly disappointed in not getting any form shifting powers out of it like most of the population seemed to do before they turned twelve.

"My, my little sheep, may the new guidance animal presented be the mighty cunning cat." She'd say between her embroidered lilies, threads of silver and lavender and looping amber strings to denote the sunrise against the cloth pulled taut around the hoop. 

The ceremony is held at dusk at the peak of festival season, when the first leaves of autumn begin to fall, so with spring may rise sons and daughters of the new guidance sign that will lead the people to prosper for the next decade, until the next guidance sign is announced. 

The palace spiritual advisor stands at the helm, before the emperor, swathed in vivid blue silk, jade pressed into his hair piece. 

The emperor sits at his side, hands folded together, and food respectfully not yet touched. His first wife cradles a gentle swollen belly, the advisor's open remarks pray for the health and prosperity of the son in her belly to be born beneath the rise of the next guiding sign. They pray it's her first son after two daughters. 

Yixing fidgets and looks to his mother, who sits with the emperor's other eight wives. He clutches the little cat charm she gave him for his birthday, wishing him great prosperity and success. 

The advisor is handed a silk sewn banner, shiny and glossy in the fire light.

…

Yixing's chances at crown prince fall to zero when the emperor's wife births a son in April. He is born with eyes deep like honey sap on rain soaked camphor, and two still peach soft nubs above his ears, denoting the steady growth of antlers. His name is Jongin. 

Yixing, the eldest son at 22, becomes the witness to what later becomes the burning of the temples in hopes of keeping the crown prince cleansed and without opposition. 

The first to be burned is that of the bear, who lies in direct opposition to the deer. The temple, nestled against the Beijing mountainside, once decorated with wreathes of prayer snowdrop and polished elm is destroyed at the order of the emperor and now lies as blackened boards and piles of ash and rechristened that of a cleansed temple. The bear spirit now allowed to return to its own home away from the living.

Yixing doesn't attend the burning of the sheep. Afforded the supposed honor of being cleansed next as the previous guidance sign, the surrounding villages that tend to each temple are the only ones who see it as disrespectful and are prosecuted for it. With no other opposition, the other temples are destroyed one after another. 

The cat is last and Yixing is powerless to stop the order. Even as the eldest son, he lies submissive to the youngest who can barely speak. 

Yixing leads three other sons of the emperor's wives by example, all of them older than the crown prince. 

"Gege, we can't be caught here," one of them says. The second eldest, he's round cheeks and silk robes of yellow. "You've already skipped many of the others. Please understand if any of us are caught here, we could be accused of treason, of defying the direct orders of the crown prince and the emperor." Cat ears bristle on the crown of his head, they flick back and forth tentatively.

Yixing runs his hands across one of the broken floor boards. "We won't be long Minseok. Take Sehun and Baekhyun back to the palace, they won't notice if I'm gone—"

"Oh, but they will," Minseok steps forward. He glances behind him to Sehun, the youngest, tall and willowy in deep blue near the wide rust opening of the temple. He hands Baekhyun, shorter and furtive, a torn up tapestry. Baekhyun folds it in his small hands and rests it onto the nearest shelf, his bottom lip is trembling. Yixing can see the curl of his tail pushing beneath the silk behind him, the same stress that flickers in Minseok's ears.

"Don't make your mother worry," Minseok says, he's turned to fully watch their brothers. He watches Baekhyun reach up and smooth at Sehun's crowned ears. Minseok crosses his arms. His own ears point straight up towards the ceiling. "It must be the temple. Maybe not Sehun quite yet, but the rest of us, we hide our status well."

Yixing feels bare wind, the gentle pricks of dust and ash, on his hands and in his hair. There's no cat ears to brush it away. "I said I wouldn't worry her, and I won't." Yixing says to the back of Minseok's head. Minseok looks down at his feet, at the delicate petals of ash that break with the slightest step.

"This is important Minseok," Yixing says, "this is our heritage, it would be disrespectful to the spirit—"

"It's already disrespectful to His Majesty," Minseok exhales heavily, "but even the emperor isn't above the spirits that guide him." He turns then and faces Yixing. His eyes are amber soft open black, "Gege, you think you owe the spirit something."

Yixing purses his lips, half glad he doesn't have a tail or ears to betray the instinct beneath his skin. "The spirit deserves better than this is all." he says clipped. "Take them home Minseok, I'll protect the spirit so they can watch over all of us once more."

Minseok's shoulders fall, "You're impenetrable, you know that?" his ears peel back, curious. "Sehun, Baekhyun, gather the horses— leave Yixing's— no arguments."

Yixing watches Baekhyun pull at Sehun's sleeve. Sehun stops where he was clearing the path from the opening of pulled red wooden boards and the remnants of an altar base.

"Is Yixing staying here?" Baekhyun says. He's blinking widely as two cat ears part the messy black hair and perk up as if previously hidden.

"He's the eldest of us, this shrine is his to take care of." Minseok says, moving closer to them. Minseok stops and turns once more. "Yixing, the spirit will protect you as you protect it. I'll tell mother of your whereabouts as long as you come back before your presence is needed."

Minseok's eyes flick like his ears behind Yixing to the large statue behind the altar.

It reaches the ceiling and mounds of rigid stone. Three large polished stone cats sit back to back, haunches bristled and one paw raised. One looks towards the sky, one the ground and one at eye level as if observing the very air that surrounds them, the rise of smoke that stains them, and the humans that worship them. 

Between them three thick tails rise up like sprouts, curl at the end above their heads like dusty halos behind their bristled ears. Each pair of eyes is jeweled black ink on calligraphy parchment seemingly unscathed in the destruction. 

Yixing watches Minseok make his way closer to the statue, he stares down the one at eye level and allows his ears to fold back as if in submission. He closes his eyes and slides to his knees among the rubble and recites the prayer Yixing taught him when he was seven and Minseok had just turned five. 

"Grant us a safe journey home. Praise you for the light and our pride you uphold," Minseok bends further at the waist and bows deeply, his forehead meeting his resting hands on the boards. 

Yixing stares into the eyes of cat closest to Minseok, the one whose head is curved down towards him, eyes simultaneously unseeing and all seeing. Yixing closes his eyes and prays silently for their safe return and his own into the arms of his guiding god. 

Minseok takes a deep breath before standing. 

Yixing watches Minseok's crowned ears, still folded back, continue until they've been buried beneath this hair and out of sight. He wants to make a quip to Minseok about hiding his identity the moment after speaking about pride but Yixing understands, he finds himself in an even deeper hole that barely covers the self preservation, the denial, their father doesn't even know this part of them exists. That they have teeth and claws and fur hidden beneath the oh so human skin. Minseok gives Yixing a reproachful look as he passes before he makes his way back to the opening of the temple to gather his brothers. Sehun's tail is flicking and Baekhyun's brushing dust off his hands from moving aside a few broken boards near the stairs. Both their ears flick up at attention when Minseok urges that further towards the horses near the gate.

Yixing stays a few hours longer until the shadows have begun to lengthen and the sun is beginning to dip tinging the sky deep orange. He's mostly cleared the inner chamber on his own now, the walls sport charred dents and creaky holes through which there's a gentle breeze helping to clear the remnants of smoke that settles across the still scuffed floors and up in the cone of the ceiling. Yixing figures he'll come back the following week to continue cleaning it up until he feels confident that the god can come back to their home in peace. He tells himself he won't rest until that feeling swells in him, even if he has to spend his life there tending to it. It's the least he could do.

The next week is cloudy and humid amid the rising and shady elms, Yixing had come this time with cleaning cloths and a bucket to hopefully begin polishing the entry way. He remembers visiting the shrine as an uninterested child with his mother back when she was still trying to impress upon him that this is the god that would protect him. He remembers hearing the tiny mewls and trills of kittens as it was a practice of the villages below to take strays there as the god would protect them and hopefully find them new homes with the attending devotees and worshipers. The offerings were enough to sustain them all season. Yixing had clung to the silk of his mother's robe, the royal guard a few feet behind them like gods themselves, always looming. It always made him feel uneasy. But child Yixing had remained uninterested through the whole ceremony until they'd left and she promised him fried yellow bean buns when they got back to the palace.

But now the temple lies quiet. Unlived and empty. Minseok accompanies him often, ties the thick strips of cloth beneath his armpits to keep his sleeves from hitting the dirt and ash. He helps scrub the floors while Yixing bakes in the sun outside landscaping. Yixing tells him he doesn't have to frequently but Minseok isn't here to take his orders.

"After all, this is the shrine of our brothers too Yixing," Minseok says sitting on the steps that open to the courtyard to the side of the main building. He looks small there in the wide circle of the opening, knees together but somehow still relaxed. Sweat dries on his brow and on his skin while he watches Yixing clear weeds away from one of the usually upkept clearings. "The gods understand the whims of a child. We're all foolish then, but we learn later that they are our protectors Yixing." Minseok's eyes flick between the movement of Yixing's wrist and hands, ever methodical as he pulls at the root in one tug and his back hunched over the growing mound beside him.

"Do they Minseok?" Yixing's saying to the ground. "The destruction could be a result of our— my lack of piety. I have to do penance. Only then can I hope for the god's forgiveness."

"Yixing, you should know that our god is kind and merciful, there's no penance to be done." Minseok's trying to reason but Yixing simply shrugs.

"I'm not looking for forgiveness in the end." Yixing pauses, "In the end, I just want to be able to say, even if it's too late, that I didn't—that I didnt— " Yixing stops, the spiral of weeds in his hand crumples as he tightens his fist, the roots shaking as if in fear, clumps of dirt fall back to the earth beneath them.

"Yixing." Minseok says firmly. "You must understand that the burnings— the order was out of our control. If His Majesty wants something done, there is no prince that can stop him."

Yixing lets the weed fall from his hands and clutches his knees instead. "This will be enough. If I can promise the god a safe place to reenter our world then that will be enough. I have accepted that at least."

Minseok's glad Yixing cannot see his look of disbelief. "I don't think you have." he crosses his arms. "and fortunately that's okay."

"Then what can I do?"

"Do this. Clear this temple Yixing. Clean the barracks and the altar and care for the strays when they begin to return. Assure the god that they still have worshippers here still willing to go against the rule to remain pious. Work until your sweat becomes offering Yixing. Work until your back aches. Tend to this temple until the rest of us can come back in peace. This is what you can do Yixing." Minseok can see Yixing begin to steel himself there squatting in the weeds, he stretches his neck to the side and takes breaths so deep that his chest and back rise and shift. "If you insist on this. Do this to the best of your ability. Only then will you let yourself understand and accept that our god is merciful and has always been. Even for you."

Yixing nods wordlessly. His eyes squeezed shut.

"Come here Yixing, I brought lunch. There's no god that rewards an unreasonably empty stomach."

Minseok unrolls a folded cloth to reveal a decently sized wicker basket. Within it are rice balls and peaches and scallion buns, one of which Minseok plucks and hands to Yixing. Yixing's stomach growls gratefully and they quickly address a prayer to the god for their food before they begin. 

They eat in relatively comfortable silence. Yixing finds that when he finishes a bun, there’s magically a new one placed into his hands. Minseok dampens a cloth napkin with his flask of water and pats at Yixing's surely dusty cheeks. Yixing stays still for him and eats until he's completely sated. Minseok probably wouldn't let him continue otherwise. 

Yixing frowns after a bite and Minseok raises an eyebrow and gives him an expectant look. 

"In what world did His Majesty find this sort of decision necessary?" Yixing stares ruefully into the bite dent he's made in the bun, this one's filled with thin cooked slices of beef. 

"Apparently this one," Minseok's expression is exasperation, his frown mirrors Yixing's. Yixing huffs out a shallow laugh and Minseok smiles. "If only His Majesty understood the nature of the deer as a facilitator and not his own self appointed predator to the rest of us."

Yixing almost chokes on a bite of bread, "Minseok—" He looks around as if in instinct. "that's treasonous." he's trying to stifle his own laugh.

Minseok wrings up his napkin and whips it towards Yixing who tries to dodge it. "Says the prince who's illegally restoring a government sanctioned demolition yah," Minseok rewhips the napkin and gets Yixing's shoulder, Yixing drops his half finished bun onto his own napkin and reroutes his hands to defend himself.

"Says the prince who's helping me do it—I'm the eldest—Minseok, you should be respecting me," Yixing's pouting but Minseok isn't letting up, enough so, Yixing abandons the bun altogether in favor of running from the onslaught. 

"I don't have to help—" Minseok's grinning, finally settling down now that Yixing's peering from behind one of the floor pillars near the temple opening. "If you insist once more, I can take my horse and—"

"Thank you for your consideration Minseok," Yixing says bowing his head, "the best younger brother I could ask for," he continues to bow gratuitously, enough to have Minseok curse at him for being petulant. 

With Minseok offering the rest of Yixing's unfinished bun as a peace offering, they both settle down to finish their food in the shade that hangs over the deck of the temple. 

Minseok helps Yixing finish pulling the weeds from the closest section of the courtyard, they'll make their way through the whole of it in the coming weeks. 

Minseok's packing away their leftovers from lunch into the pocket on his saddle when Yixing tells him he's choosing to stay later once more. 

His expression is a flash concern before becoming understanding, "Yixing—"

"Don't worry, I'll be back at the same time I always am," Yixing gives Minseok a sympathetic look, "you should go on. It's not yet evening, our brothers need your guidance." 

"Don't patronize me," Minseok huffs out a laugh, "they're growing bigger every day." he pauses, "Even the little one, they don't need me." He runs his hand down the glossy flank of his horse, "I learned back when you first insisted on this that I couldn't stop you. So come back Yixing, when you're done, because your brothers need their eldest." With that, Minseok hikes up a leg and mounts his horse. 

"Of course." 

The temple feels quieter with just him, the spirits themselves newly fled against their will. Yixing hopes as he gathers up carved wooden figures of perched and dozing panthers, some tiny chips of elm and some larger handfuls of pine and camphor that the spirits will come back to inhabit them in peace. 

He finds some outside among the weeds and in the grasses, predators hiding ready to pounce. A few are burnt beyond recognition, Yixing doesn't see them as any less precious, their ears frayed and ash black, ritualistic blocks of red across some of their snouts and above their eyes, he takes them too with hopes of restoring them with some paint. He places them into a basket in the meantime while he mallets a few of the standing shelves back together with some untouched planks of wood he'd found back behind some of the barracks on the first day.

Yixing finds himself wandering back there again for the first time since then, the barracks had been vacant for years now, live in temple attendants hadn't been necessary since the public took care of the temples as a communal responsibility.

The building lies separate to the temple proper, slats of more pine placed together to form a small crop of modest looking one and two room living dwellings that overlook one of the sloping hills that surround the temple and half nestle them among the trees. Inside, Yixing finds empty dressers and wooden bunks and old futons folded away on the floor of the closets and the same painted cat figures on the window sills near dead potted plants and along the doors. Yixing leaves them as they are untouched if only dusty. He resolves to come back and clean them up.

There's cats carved into the calligraphy weights in the drawers and the iron work of the unused oil lanterns. A few large tapestries line the walls and exist in drawers. Worn embroideries, thousands of shining threads of black and silver depicting the slink form of a panther backlit against the setting evening sun, hidden among the rise of bamboo paws scratching the earth, at a plum tree sapling. The sky is patterned with swirls of purple and red dipping the cat into shining twilight of entwining blue and peach threads. The cat is serene plucking at the grasses at its feet as the embroiderer themselves, the creator cultivating the scene before them.

Yixing runs his fingers across the silky front, pads lingering against the cat itself, the smooth appropriated fur and sapling. He thinks of himself as the tiny sprout, the god not cultivating him, but instead scratching away the unloyalty in him. He folds it with careful hands and places it back into the drawer he'd found it in. Blankets line the walls of the rooms with bunks, little nests of cotton and silk for wandering strays.

Through one of the windows is a crowd of pines and elms, he remembers wanting to run out into that forest to explore as a child, naturally because of his status, his mother forbid him from doing so. If he wanted to run away as a form of returning that status in all its forms, he'd never mentioned it. It was simply never possible, even as child, he'd been aware of that at least.

By the time Yixing's dusted most of the bedding with the intention of replacing them all with new silk covers, the sun has really begun to dip casting the wood panels a burnt orange as if they too were burning in tandem with the temple. He's crossing the room once more when he catches movement through the window. He freezes out of direct view of the threshold. The hills near the temple are usually empty, save for the occasional traveler, and even more so after the burnings, for weeks following, coming near the temples was seen as trespassing and liable to prosecution for defying His Majesty's orders. After being strictly enforced, His Majesty pulled back his royal guard and soldiers, fully relying on the self policing of the people to uphold his order.

Yixing used that to his advantage. But he's also heard the existence of animal spirits looking for mortal bodies, that his brothers have ears and tails because they have living spirits inside them, protecting them. That non-corporeal spirits wander the forests and villages looking for young souls to guide. That maybe it's just a spirit wandering the forest here to use the temple as refuge. A stray looking to rest.

Yixing stands still for a moment longer, he hears nothing and so resolves to go about his business. He's in the middle of messing with a torn strip of canvas on the door when he hears a twig snap outside. Yixing immediately perks up at attention. He wishes he had the acute hearing of his brothers in that moment. He's still crouched by the door, hands on the peeling strips smoothing it back into place, but even his hands still. He pulls his hands back and begins to stand, it shouldn't be anything other than an animal, nothing to worry about and yet Yixing feels something in his chest grow gently tight, enough to notice but not enough to impede him.

While managing to keep his distance from the window, Yixing scans the tree line for anything. All he sees are the dark rough tree trunks doing their job of shrouding anything and everything willing to get lost among them. After another moment of silence, Yixing releases a slow deep breath. As if in direct objection, a low rumbling undercurrent, it could be lost in the wind, it could be the wind, the growl is slight and sharp, the same bright snap of a twig underfoot. Yixing feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

He takes another deep breath, and he's about to turn away when he sees the figure there at the tree line. It's larger than a house cat, slinking through the trees, as deep black as the trunks in front of the reddening sun, striking there as if making itself known deliberately. Its eyes mirror the sun itself, a gloomy shock of yellow. Everything in Yixing's body feels suddenly heavy, every muscle seizing up and then relaxing completely, almost in submission, that he is merely fodder for a predator that he cannot escape. With a blink, the cat is gone, hidden in the forest once more and Yixing decides that perhaps he's overstayed his welcome.

Yixing kneels back at the temple proper in front of the altar cats, their stony eyes staring him down much like the cat among the brush.

"It appears that I have yet to prove my stay," Yixing says leaning further down and pressing his forehead to the floor. The room is now clear from debris and scrubbed clean, there's still a draft coming from the missing panels of the furthest wall. "May you protect me as I seek to restore and rescind your unwilling banishment at the hands of my father who does not fear you. Praise you for your forgiveness that I have not yet earned. Praise you for the light and our pride you uphold," Yixing says steadily before he lifts his head. He does not hurry through his prayers, if that is indeed his god wandering through the trees for haven, and he is but a sacrifice to make it happen, he has fully accepted his fate for he is the woodland rodent that thinks only foolishly of outrunning a predator and so he does not.

It's a week later Yixing sneaks out after his training lessons under the guise of taking a relaxing walk before he's needed for dinner. He'd already packed away cleaning cloths and paints into a satchel and attached it to the saddle of his horse earlier that morning when no one was watching.

Yixing sits cross legged in the opening of the temple to the courtyard facing the steady early afternoon heat. He's alone this time. Beside him is the basket of faded and broken figures he'd collected during clean up. He speaks to each as he repairs them, confesses to them his self appointed failures.

He smooths the rigid edge of an ear with a small knife, gentle scrapes of the blade back and forth. "Perhaps that's why you didn't manifest within me, even you could see I was hopeless from the start." Yixing says ruefully to himself.

"I was foolish to believe I was anything else. Maybe it was shame." Yixing says tinkering with a small nail, he rotates it back into the loose hole where the tail swings precariously.

"I'm not proud of what I'd thought, of what I did. Minseok says I'm being too hard on myself. I'm not sure if he's right or not, but what I do know is that doing this, for you first, and then myself second, is the only way I'll feel atoned for wishing I was something else."

Yixing hums the swooping melody he'd learned on the zither last week, it's melancholy but steady in its narrative of notes. Minseok had played the lead melody and Yixing remembers it stark, much more than his supplemental role of back and forth undercurrent.

He sweeps a small tipped brush over faded markings, awash with a new bright red that stands stark to the dark of the wood. The marks are small blocks of color that circle the collars and tails and backs of the cats, beneath some of their eyes, the color denoting a level of piety as well as the frequency giving an estimate of length of devotion.

Yixing chuckles, even the gods themselves display an almost immaculate penchant unto themselves. But they're gods, how else would they do it? Yixing runs his fingers over a bright yellow triangle beneath a polished marble eye of the figure in his hands, the pupil is closed and narrow and dark, as if it could see the rays of sun before them too. Its ears are the soft brown of the wood it was carved from, it still holds onto a hint of the sharp scent of sap.

"Sehun and Baekhyun too, they allow me to do this because they see how I would suffer if I didn't. You see that I'm trying don't you?" Yixing stares into its unblinking eyes as if waiting long enough will yield an answer. "Only time will tell if you approve of this duty."

One of them, small enough to fit in his palm is ash black and painted with rosettes of red in its open paws. It's a sign of atonement. Yixing holds it as if it could break. A few of the porcelain ones, bright scratched white with the blue of ink for eyes and whiskers, are missing paws and ears and a few tails, they sit at his sides like the emperor's council. A few are large enough to reach his shoulder with the smallest being a curled up kitten with closed eyes and one blue circle between its peeled back ears. It's at his side as if it were real and seeking his warmth.

Yixing's covering up scuffs on the one in his hand with black paint when he hears a quiet chuff out in the courtyard. He looks up and cannot immediately place where it came from. The back gate is open but there is nothing there. Yixing notes some of the overgrown grasses that need trimming when he has time. A twig snaps, this time clearly from right outside the gate and Yixing hears it before he sees it once more.

The cat's head is low to the ground, almost meek if its tail weren't flicking near its back legs, a clear indication of warning or irritation.

Yixing watches it paw at the soft dirt, its nose scrunching briefly to sniff as it enters through the opening in the gate and into the courtyard. He can see its rib cage clear as the skin shifts over it with each step forwards, where muscle should be firm and rippling beneath the fur, the skin lies loose and the bones beneath press to the surface. Its eyes are the same yellow he'd seen the other day. It must be the same cat.

Yixing doesn't move, if only to put the tiny figure in his hands onto the wood in front of him to dry what's been newly applied.

The cat does not come any closer, its ears flick forwards quickly before it circles once then settles onto the patch of grass before it. Its large black body dull in the sun yet stark against the pale of the dry grass. Yixing watches it yawn revealing two sets of sharp canines and rows of pointy teeth and pink tongue before it lays its head down onto its paws and blinks lazily in the direction of the temple and subsequently Yixing.

Yixing figures that peace would be his best option and resolves to leave it be. Should it be some kind of sign then he shall let it lead him where it may naturally instead of pushing the issue. So Yixing takes a few deep breaths and goes back to work while the cat sleeps. At some point Yixing disappears back into the temple for some cloths he'd left near the altar. When he comes back to the deck, the cat is gone and the temple feels strangely empty again.

Yixing leaves soon after he arranges the figures onto the shelves that are spread around the temple. He puts the fragile porcelain ones in one of the back attendant rooms where they should be safe but still able to be viewed. He prays to the altar cats for safety like he always does before he leaves for the night.

When Yixing comes back two days later, the cat is nowhere to be seen but he does leave a tray of rice cakes and sweet bean paste and chicken porridge, altar offerings, before he leaves.

…

Sehun cuts into a scallion pancake with his chopsticks over breakfast the next morning. He helps himself to steamed eggs and hot tea while Yixing sits across from him at their low table in Sehun's mother's, the eighth wife's, quarters. Her rooms overlook a modest pond surrounded by golden and red ginkgos and reaching camphors.

"Yixing ge, the emperor plans to send guards around again unannounced. I think it would be best to stay away for a while." Sehun says, almost pouting, he sips at his tea to stop himself.

Yixing exhales deep and scratches behind his ear with a blunt nail, "It would be wise to do so," he tenses his jaw and pushes around a piece of egg on his plate with his chopstick. "If I were caught it would give them more incentive to destroy them, if not faster in order to keep me in line." Yixing huffs, "but what do they care about me, I'm not crown prince--"

"But you're still the eldest."

"I'm not preferred anymore, not that that was my dream when I was born--"

Sehun's pointed expression is enough to cut him off.

"I hold different priorities now Sehun. Like raising you for one." Yixing smiles and Sehun frowns but Yixing continues. "As well as proving that the guidance sign I belong under is one that will accept me again." He exhales sharp through his nose. "I'll heed your warning but I have to go back as soon as it's safe to do so."

"That's all I ask ge," Sehun says, "be careful."

"Don't worry about me, worry about completing your lessons. It's important you become schooled in this palace's never ending politics for the sake of it."

Sehun's lips form a tight straight line, "Minseok ge, says the same thing. I'm doing fine. If mother is proud of me that's all that matters." he looks a little smug with his line of a jaw but still boyish with his round cheeks and bright eyes. The crown prince has those same bright eyes. They all do. Yixing believes somewhere along the way, the emperor lost his.

"You bring up a strong point," Yixing's expression is soft and thoughtful. "We should finish up breakfast soon, I'm due for a music lesson this afternoon."

Sehun's expression falls as it reminds him of the barrage of economy lessons he has after breakfast until dinner.

As Sehun had told him, there are royal guards being sent to the temples within the same week to give the emperor assurance that there are no trespassers and the temples remain empty. At Sehun's behest he does stay away until they are over. He gets restless being unable to leave the palace for what he wants. He plucks at the zither from noon until night until his calluses have gone hard and aching. Until Minseok kneels next to him and asks that they meditate for a break.

"Something tells me you're itching for something to do." Minseok says putting some loose instruments gently away in their boxes and stands. Just set off the palace library is the music room that houses the instruments and equipment for His Majesty's band. Minseok had long gained access to the building for himself, as he excelled in their lessons and often teaches the players when he has spare time. The room is shelves of hand written music notes and compositions, books and instructions for beginners.

"This week is turning out more challenging than I anticipated."

Minseok tries to hide the amusement in his expression. "Eager to prove yourself?"

"I wouldn't say that's all it is anymore." Yixing murmurs.

Minseok's brows rise, "Oh? What secrets is this temple hiding for you? What enlightenments has it shined upon you?"

"I'm not joking." Yixing pauses, "There's some strays returning and I've been feeding them."

Minseok's expression softens, "Isn't that good? I'm glad they are. You really must be improving the place for them to start coming back."

"Yeah. It is. Sure they could hunt, but that's not as satisfying." Yixing says not looking in Minseok's eyes.

Minseok nods in agreement. "Don't worry Yixing, they'll make it until these checks have finished and then you can go back. I'd like to go with you again soon to give some offerings of my own actually." Yixing feels suddenly very happy and it makes Minseok stronger in his conviction. "The cats could use some more I'm sure and so can the gods while we're at it."

Yixing nods seemingly satisfied and they continue to practice, Minseok letting him take the leading role this time. Yixing reads the notes without really reading them, if that really is a god showing up at the temple, then starvation shouldn't be of any issue as long as those that are devoted to them remain as such. Feeling hopelessly dejected at his insufficiency, Yixing frowns after they've run through the piece once more. It's a looping aural narrative of a man crossing a river to find his place in life, the high riding melody the pitter of his feet splashing through the water's surface and the deeper push and pull of lower notes the unassuming current that threatens to pull him under when he nearly slips. They support each other well and play as they have been since Yixing was six and Minseok had been brought in for his very first lesson. 

"In terms of your more animalistic qualities, where the god lives within you, do you have the ability to completely become a cat?" Yixing tries not to sound too interested but Minseok's brows perk up. 

"Not that I know of, no. Only ears and teeth and tail Yixing. Why do you ask?" 

"No reason. Couldn't our ancestors completely change form?" 

"That's what we've been told yes," Minseok's still reading idly through his notes. 

"And the gods themselves?" Yixing pauses. Something in those eyes had just felt so awfully human. So incredibly human. 

"Walk in each of us as the story goes," Minseok's slipped back into rote memorization, like it's a second thought and he's repeating it knowing full well Yixing knows this information. "Even you Yixing, before you try and say anything on the contrary," 

Yixing actually chuckles at that. Without a proper rebuttal he watches Minseok's wrapped fingers, small and spritely, brush against the strings not plucking them. They're newly silent, Yixing thoughtful. 

"I guess you're right." 

The altar statue is tall and scuffed with smoke and ash and it looms over Yixing like an ever judging god.

Like a protector.

The impromptu check-ups had been merely to check for vacancies, Yixing doesn't think they go inside because he's relieved when he comes back the next week to find that none of his work has been undone.

The buckets of water Yixing had lugged in from the well in the courtyard slosh onto the floor boards near his ankles. It splashes some of the folded cloths he'd brought in.

Yixing looks at the eyes of the one that stares him down, they're opaque and glassy in the sun rays, almost a deep brown of roasted chestnuts like the dappled eyes of the cat lounging in the grasses in the courtyard all those weeks ago.

In the silence of the late morning, Yixing begins at the front paws, six large mounds of stone, marbled pressed layers of earth giving the curve of it the illusion of grey smoke curling within the black. The smooth curl of the claws comes to a point at the flat stone of its plinth, still looks sharp enough to cut. Yixing can feel the grit of the rock beneath the pads of his fingers, the small speckles if he looks close enough.

Each claw turns jet black when doused with water, Yixing scrubs it down with the soft cloths, the muddied water washes past his feet and onto the deck to the courtyard and wash down the stairs and onto the ground.

Yixing almost doesn't hear the scrape of claws receding behind him, curling back within the pads as if it were weary of the floors. Its body is no longer skeletal, muscles firmer and thick beneath the brush of fur. He had found the empty offering trays an encouraging development.

"You're back," Yixing notes, his back still turned to the cat. He's still scrubbing when he says, "I've brought food for you today too. Roasted chicken and grilled fish," He pauses. Yixing pulls away from the statue and faces the cat. Its tail is swaying gently from side to side, idly, in comfort. Yixing smiles. 

"It is for you, you know." Yixing says. "I couldn’t make you go anywhere if I wanted to or not. My fear cannot sway you, but I am fearful. I'm sure you can feel it. It might be presumptuous of me, but I take you as a sign. I don't think it would be a reach for me to say that perhaps you're who watches this temple now. You're who resides here." His expression is serene, if not relieved to have gotten out his thoughts. 

The cat makes their way closer, a slow smooth gait forward with one paw leading the others until they're mere feet away. Yixing doesn't move if only to kneel as if in break, his knees resting in the soapy water at his feet, his pants soaking it up. He gives the cat a neutral look, carefully blank and watches the cat's face tilt to the side and its ears flick briefly. 

Up close Yixing can feel something akin to adrenaline simmering under his skin, it's not fear but it could be with one ill placed thought. Its shoulder blades reach Yixing's knee, its silky shifting black fur and eyes that can see through Yixing.

Yixing watches the cat with careful eyes as it circles the floor briefly before it settles back on its haunches mirroring him. He raises his head to look into its face, it's not close enough to touch but it's close enough to look every bit like a miniature of the statue facing it, complete with tail curling and uncurling near its hip.

"My brothers cannot become full cats," Yixing chuckles, "something in me believes that within you is the spirit of the god that's been forcibly banished from this place. I believe that you coming back is a sign that my work here is for a reason. That maybe there's a part of the god's spirit that exists within you." Yixing smiles in spite of it all. He sighs. "Regardless, even if I'm on a fool’s errand, you being here is something of a good sign. Just animal or not, I'll continue to bring food as long as you continue to show up."

Yixing also takes its lack of aggression to be a good sign. "I hope what I'm doing is a good thing, for the god first and foremost." his lips form a gentle line with which he offers the cat a few moments of contemplative silence before he stands.

The cat is licking its paw with a broad pink tongue, dampening the fur beneath it, when Yixing turns back around to pick up where he left off.

Yixing tries to forget about the presence behind him and is unable to for quite some time. He'd found a ladder back behind the barracks there to perhaps do exactly what he's planning to use it for. It's between getting the ladder and beginning to scrub at the foreleg of the cat facing the back wall does Yixing begin to lose track of the presence there on the floor of the plinth. He'd briefly found it amusing when it's tail swung into a small trickle of water and the way it stuck almost straight up in the air before it got up and resituated itself a bit further away from the aftermath of Yixing's cleaning duty.

Yixing's just begun to scrub down the cold stone shoulders and breasts of the cats when he looks down and the living one is no longer there lying on the floor. He finds it circling the room in big curious arcs, sniffing at the lower shelves and hanging fringes of tapestries, even batting at a particularly long thread with a big paw briefly before losing interest.

By the time he's reached their heads and crowned ears, the roaming cat is near the front opening of the temple and lying down, its head resting on its front paws, moving in and out of an afternoon nap.

In the reflection of the cat's eyes Yixing can see behind him that the real one has moved to a ray of sun that breaks through one of the broken roof slats. Its belly still covered, its ears peeled back, but relaxed. It nods off there too and Yixing loses track of how long he's been there.

He's begun to polish their eyes with camphor oil until they're glossy and appear to have souls of their own. The cat is gone by the time Yixing has finished, had wandered out back into the forest when he wasn't looking.

At the time Yixing appears the following week, the cat is sitting at the opening of the temple as if expecting him, waiting for him even.

Even when Yixing props up the ladder to begin fixing the roof, the cat disappears behind the building long enough Yixing thinks it's gone for the day until he's on the roof, with the thin wooden squares he'd cut to fit the missing shingles and there at the end of it, on the other side, appears the cat, slinking and curious, black against the bright red of the shingles.

Yixing laughs, "Found another way up I see." Yixing knows there's a series of lower roofs towards the other end of the temple that could easily be used to reach this height, "Aren't you resourceful," he smiles. "I see you're curious as to what I'm doing up here."

Seemingly lighter than its form suggests, the cat settles on a perch nearer to the point of the large curved roof. It looks over the front court of the temple like a protector. It bats at flies, tail flicking idly while Yixing works and sweats and repairs.

Some time along the course of the day, Yixing's patched it to the best of his ability and sitting there on the curve of it, it holds him like a star balancing in the middle of a waning moon. The sun is high and relentless on them both but the cat is still there.

Yixing brushes away the dust on his hands on the front of his pants.

"What do you say to some rest finally?" Yixing wipes at the sweat on his brow. "I'm craving braised pork." he rubs his belly. The cat's ears perk towards him at the mention of food and then it's lifting its head towards Yixing and he laughs, a full laugh that fills the air, he hasn't felt that light in quite a while.

"I'll take that as a yes." Yixing moves to gather his tools back into the cloth satchel he'd brought up with him. He doesn't expect to briefly lose his footing, but he also doesn't expect his arm to be caught the way it is, in the jaw of the cat that's suddenly at his side. Its four large canines sinking into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling it up while avoiding his arm completely. Yixing freezes, his foot settles on the rim of the roof and he exhales a shuddering breath of relief. He wants to reach his free hand up and pet it but he refrains, he takes another deep breath and it lets go of him.

"Thank you," Yixing says instead. "I should be more careful." he tries to be light but his chest is still tight. The cat looks tensed, it's just a foot away from him now, its claws curved out and piercing the shingles for purchase, still yet to relax the way Yixing acts like he is.

Yixing feels there's nothing he can do when the cat begins to back off and then without another moment disappears behind the peak of the roof surely to its access point and Yixing's left there alone. 

Yixing takes his time back inside eating his portions and setting out the little tray of offerings before he leaves. He even adds on a few extra prayers in hope but he ends up leaving soon after when the courtyard remains empty. Somehow the temple just feels empty, even of spirits.

…

Anyone staying at the palace for any amount of time would hear the whispers. 

Yixing feels secretly vindicated in the act though he never chips in or nods his head in agreement. He knows better than that as do his brothers lest any of them be prosecuted for treason or betrayal of the emperor. 

Yixing doesn't even completely understand why it was necessary, there had been no changes, no threat to the existence of the twelve faith system. As it was created, it was meant to exist concurrently with every other sign. Each sign had its own piece that made up the whole with each just as important as the last. 

Rumors between villagers and even hand maids to the empress and her daughters, called the decision one made under duress, that maybe the king had heard a false prophecy because no problem existed until he chose to create one. 

Yixing stands at the head, with Minseok right behind him and then Baekhyun and Sehun behind him shoulder to shoulder. The crown prince is still much too young to attend formal meetings between the emperor and his advisory council which had now become necessary after rumors hit a fever pitch to which he imprisoned one of his own royal guard chiefs under false accusation of spreading treason. 

Together they stand between both sides of the council, their heads bowed down while each lord suggests different solutions to the problem. 

"Your Majesty, rescinding the order would regain the trust of your people, not that it has been lost but it would strengthen their resolve and confidence in you as their leader."

"Your Majesty, rescinding the order would be tantamount to revealing yourself as wrong in your own decision. There is no faith in a emperor who thinks himself wrong."

"Your Majesty, may we suggest simply reinstating the system but constricting it at its base tenants. Worship is acceptable but public methods of worship could be punishable."

Yixing can't see him but he knows Minseok is eager to speak, but he'll wait until it's his time. 

The emperor is someone Yixing scarcely knows. As his father, Yixing harbors some resignations over only being valued for his sex and nothing else. Not even as his son. None of them really agree to it, they're all at risk the moment the crown prince becomes king. If they are not the emperor they are as good as dead in their father's eyes. Minseok's never been afraid to push the limits of his reach, Yixing admirers that in him. Since Yixing was born, as the first son, it had been internalized in him that he never existed for himself, but for his future people. For his country. He never argued, he took everything as fact and he lied down everything about himself in order to appease his father who pushed him away the moment the crown prince was born. In that moment, Yixing meant nothing and hasn't since. 

Believing himself born of the sheep was a method of coping he realizes, the one thing he thought he could control and now that's gone too. 

He's barely registering the council filing out because Minseok has said something and the emperor is calling for privacy. There he is kneeling there in front of the throne, his head respectfully bowed down and Yixing's pushed back into reality. 

"Your Majesty, I respectfully ask that you reconsider. Our people are lost without the twelve faith system. You deny them of faith, you deny yourself of loyal citizens."

Yixing feels his chest go tight. Guilt wells in his throat, this is the farthest Minseok has ever gone, Yixing wishes he had even a fraction of his gumption. 

"Your Majesty, please listen." Minseok says still bowing. His hands are tight on his knees. 

Yixing can see him tensing, the way his mouth sits in a firm line. Yixing wants to help him, in any way possible so he joins him. 

"Your Majesty," Yixing says quickly, almost falling in his haste to bow there next to Minseok, to move his weight onto his knees. He's not even looking at his emperor when he says, "The twelve faith system has pulled our country together, to deny them of that would be treasonous to our very roots." He knows the moment he says it, he's gone further than any of those rumors dared to go, those are child's play in comparison. 

"Your Majesty, don't leave a divided country to the crown prince, he should rule in a time of peace," Minseok says, "he's much too small to be hardened by politics." 

"Your Majesty," Yixing says because it feels like they're begging, "please heed us. It's not too late to change the order and reinstate the system, you would receive praise by your country."

Yixing never takes a moment to look at him, not in this setting, never in this setting. They're already pushing their allowance as it is. He'd be foolish to take the emperor's silence as leniency, no sooner than he look up would he be as disrespectful as they come and disrespect won't protect what he's cultivated. 

"Please remember your own upbringing," Minseok says, "Your Majesty." He adds as if he'd almost forgotten, "All of us born beneath the sign of the cat—different eras but beneath the same god-" 

"Your Majesty," Baekhyun's voice is as meek as he allows it when it comes bubbling up his throat and then he's at Yixing's other side on his knees bowing, head down. "My brother's speak for the people when they say loss of faith can damage their unity under you."

The three of them are taking turns in what could be vain, until they're all sure that with the crowning of the prince they'll be the first to go. Not even when Sehun steps forward, and says, "Your Majesty, you wouldn't know this of us, but within us we carry the direct spirit of the god that protects us," do they expect two ears to rise on Sehun's head from beneath his hair, deliberately so. 

Not even when Minseok steps up to support Sehun, his own tawny pair parting his hair does the king even looked moderately swayed. His eyes are heavy and deep set, they looked carved into his skin. His robes, red and yellow silk and hand quilted leather, tumble over the red of the cushion he sits upon and over his legs. 

"Even those of us that the god has not graced aren't any less inferior Your Majesty," Yixing says, head down. "Please, we ask this of you." And together all four of them press their foreheads to the ground in complete submission. 

Yixing can barely register what the king has said because all he knows is the weight in his gut and the constriction in his chest telling him it's bad. It was foolish to have tried, but he would've regretted it if he hadn't. 

It's cooler now outside, with the undercurrent afternoon heat to stifle and hope for autumn. Yixing walks the path more than runs, he couldn't face any of the others afterwards. After they were told to leave from his sight after their pleading stunt. Yixing makes note to pray the crown prince does not take after the king. They all knew where he was going, but not even Minseok bothered to stop him. Now was the time to retreat and reconfigure. The time to lick his wounds, clean lest the damage become any more severe. 

Yixing pulls his horse along, tall and broad and chestnut chest and white socks, he smooths his hand along its neck in comforting strokes. He wishes he'd brought his brothers along with him but finds the silence oddly soothing in its own way. 

He revels in the empty paths, and stops for rest as the hills begin to roll. All of it to expel a restless energy he's maintained for the past few hours now. By the time the path has smoothed out along one side and the rising elms are providing him with dappled shade, Yixing takes one deep breath and finally, fitfully relaxes. He can see the tower of the temple nestled in the boughs and he hurries forward. 

After tying up his horse inside the gate nearest the temple opening, Yixing takes one look at the rise of shingles and wood and thinks if the emperor has his own way this could be the last time he sees it this way. 

Not nearly the former glory it was, filled to the brim with white primrose and offerings that ran the floor and all the shelves of the temple, kittens in the courtyard and cats in every nook and cranny mewling and trilling like birds. 

Now it's empty when Yixing enters, the figures he'd restored sit neatly upon the fixed shelves that line the wall, there's still quite a few more that he plans to clean up since he has time and is in need of a distraction. 

Now it's only his lone offering tray on the floor at the plinth, an empty bowl and empty rice cake containers. Yixing smiles at that at least. That there's still someone accepting his offerings. 

He heads back behind the statue and the altar to the now empty private rooms attendees would use to pray in the direct contact with a temple keeper. Where he'd placed the porcelain cats and the basket of yet to be cleaned figures, as well as his satchel of supplies. 

After placing those back in the main room, Yixing figures a bucket of water may prove useful once more in helping wash off the ash and thus heads into the courtyard to the well. 

With a bucket of water in hand Yixing's stepping back into the temple and before he even sees it, he can feel it's presence. Yixing places the bucket down and looks around. 

"I thought I'd scared you away?" Yixing says quietly. He exhales in relief when he sees the cat step in through the temple opening and make its way to him.

"At least you haven't rejected me," he says sitting down in front of the statue and pulling out his paints onto a clean cloth. 

The cat stalls a few feet away again and Yixing doesn't know if he could handle it running away from him today. Its ears open towards him, and its eyes wide and golden rimmed black stare at him for a moment too long, enough to unnerve Yixing, before its tail curls around its haunches and the cat settles down on his left. 

"Cat," Yixing tries but he frowns, "I've never known what to call you in all this time. You'd think I would've named you by now after the temple or something." He pauses, thinking. But it's not like the cat could judge him so he continues on. "But something, I have a feeling which could be wrong I know, that that would be presumptuous of me," he says gently as he picks up a figure. It's a palm sized wooden kitten painted with lilies. 

The cat's tail swings behind it, large relaxed arcs. 

"I'm sorry I can't be more entertaining. You see, the palace demands things of us. Often, things that we cannot give." Yixing says brushing at a charred edge with a corner of the wet cloth. "I'm sure you're sad to see your home the way it was all those months ago," 

Its breaths are deep and audibly rumbling. Too inconsistent to be asleep though its eyes are gently closed. 

"But to see you've returned is something of a good omen I think." Yixing smiles but it drops quickly. He stares into the content eyes of the figure in his hands, and doesn't look at the cat next to him, living and breathing. "If I don't come back after today, I think it's best if you don't return either." He says softly. 

The cat opens its eyes, ears open in Yixing's direction. 

"Pride is a dangerous thing, cat." Yixing dips the brush into a hand mixed dollop of lavender in the cover of the tin. He begins painting in careful strokes. "You deserve a freedom that I may not have, as the guardian of this temple—I've never seen a panther like you, I think you mean something to this temple, god or not, this destruction is not yours to bare."

Yixing goes quiet after that. He paints with only the sound of birds outside to break the steady silence. Small strokes of purples and bright red and luck and fortune he imbues within each. One cat holds its paw open and up, accepting offerings or giving them, its eyes closed in complete trust. Most of them are. Some expressions are barely legible but he tries his best with thin sharp black bands of paint, bright against the dried walnut and faded dried pine. His back begins to ache but he keeps going. Even as the sun begins to set. No one is expecting him back tonight. 

He barely even notices the shift of the animal beside him, the way it moves closer until its broad forehead is inches away from Yixing's arm, the length of its front leg, the length of Yixing's thigh. Its paw big and wide and spread against the dark of the wood, could blend in if the sun were any more set. 

Then it begins to purr, Yixing feels it more than he hears it, his own focused breathing lulling it to sleep. Yixing pauses then, puts down his brush onto the cloth that now looks like a painting in and of itself, its own tapestry of blended grasses growing in the face of lanterns whose light shines through thin multicolored crafting paper. 

Yixing doesn't know why, except he does. Why the apologies come so quick like he's hurrying to get them all out lest he lose his nerve. 

"I'm sorry, beautiful cat. All this might've been for nothing." He's murmuring now, looking down at his stained hands. "There are some things—many things I cannot do and this, my sole duty after being born beneath this god, I couldn't do this either. I don't think I ever could. I fooled myself into this, into thinking I was capable, into thinking that it would be of even the smallest service to this god that may not even accept me." 

This time there is no Minseok to object him, no Baekhyun or Sehun to give him concerned looks. 

There's only this cat here to watch Yixing break into pieces. Alone there surrounded by his advisory council of wood and porcelain of wet paint and broken paws. Just as judgmental as they come he thinks. Yixing holds his head in his hands, rubs hard at his eyes until he sees different colors bursting behind his eyelids. A different darkness to the one quickly falling outside. Even the being next to him, in an hour or two, will blend into the night and be lost to Yixing too. 

The cat is still purring, low thick rumbles that practically drip with sympathy. Yixing peeks an eye open, turns his head when he feels the first brush of soft fur. The way its head bunts gentle against his arm once before pulling away to look at him. 

Those eyes can really see him. Yixing feels something in his chest tighten. 

The cat bunts again, the purr louder in emphasis, in insistence and Yixing inhales sharply and asks it, "What's wrong temple cat?" He lowers his hands, the cat's tail is flicking side to side, impatient. "Is there something you'd like to say?" Yixing turns his body then to fully face the panther. "I wish you could speak too, it'd be easier for me to understand what it is you want of me," the corner of his lip lifts, amused.

The cat moves up into a sitting position on its haunches, its body is a long lean line with retracted claws and sharp teeth. 

"Is it food? I guess I do usually put the offerings out earli—" 

The cat opens its mouth yawning, its set of teeth on full jarring display. Yixing doesn't expect the way it lowers its head as if reaching for water, the way it looks like him bowing before his own father. 

It moves its head, eyes still trained on Yixing as if now it were seeing through him and past him, back up until it resembles the statue that it sits in front of, tail curling and unfurling behind it. 

With a choked inhale Yixing watches the cat repeat the motion, only this time, it pushes forward until their foreheads press together and Yixing can smell the thick underbrush of the forest and the cool stones near the river down the path and dried grasses in the courtyard, and even the beating sun on the roof. It's too much and Yixing shuts his eyes. 

He can feel its breaths hot and sweltering on his cheeks, if it were so inclined, it could kill him right there. There's a part of Yixing that thinks of the possibility as a freeing one. 

In this darkness, one in which this temple cat looms over him, it's a different sort of dark, one where Yixing isn't thinking about all the ways he falls short or all the ways he thinks he's failed. It's a dark where he feels warm and coddled and content to stay. He's frankly scared to open his eyes because the whole world out there is a reality that he doesn't want to face yet. Here, in this temple, he's protected and everything else doesn't matter. 

So he keeps his eyes closed until he can feel his breaths sync with the low rumbling in front of him and he allows himself to get lost in it. To not feel anything except his own breathing and the thought that he will get up after this alive and he'll do whatever it takes to protect this, this cat, this temple, Yixing isn't completely sure anymore but he'll protect it to the best of his ability. 

The breathing in front of him has shallowed, gone so light Yixing pictures the whistling gale above the low thunder of the purrs, in fact there aren't any more purrs, he can barely feel the heat of the fur against his forehead, in fact he can't feel it at all. He feels alone there, suddenly fearful of opening his eyes. It's not a dark nebulous comfort anymore but a small cramped corner, a hiding place and Yixing has his back to the corner and there's no defensible action to take in any capacity. 

He feels cold, there's nothing touching him and he feels his chest wanting to burst like he's not breathing. 

Yixing tries to rid himself of the feeling but suddenly everything feels like it’s closing in and his lungs are fighting for air and his heart wants to escape through his throat and—

"Don't be disappointed when you open your eyes and you don't see a cat in front of you." 

His voice is low and raspy from disuse, but smooth enough to convey both the levity and the tinge of fear at once. 

Yixing freezes. He wants to open his eyes but he's scared of what he might see. His gut is still clenched tight like he's about to heave. 

"You can open your eyes, I promise I'm not much different now."

So Yixing does. 

He's sitting right where Yixing swears there was a cat, smaller than it was too. Ruffled black hair almost covers his eyes and high cheekbones. He's completely bare and sun golden, his eyes dark but unassuming and his lips pink and curled. Almost blasphemous with the way he squats thighs parted in front of the altar cats, cock pierced ritualistically with one small ring of gold nestled beneath each side of the crown and heavy hanging between his thighs, glints of the markings on his nape mirroring the paint Yixing's seen on the collars of countless figures he's repainted over the last week. 

The only thing Yixing can think to say is, "So I take it the god walks within you too?"

He frowns, "You could say that." 

Yixing is still in complete shock despite half expecting it for the better part of the last month. 

"What do I call you?" 

"You mean Temple Cat and Beautiful Cat are off the table?" He looks extremely kitten like with the way he simpers even playfully. "My name is Kim Jongdae." He says, the playfulness suddenly gone and in its place is hesitation. "I thought I could help. You looked like you needed someone to talk to and I couldn't reach you with just noises so—" he sort of drifts off like he's about to convince himself that this was a horrible idea and he could run now and save face. 

"Don't run," Yixing can see it in his face, he has the same expression often. "You're right about that, so don't feel like you've made an assumption because in this case you've pinned me completely."

Jongdae tilts his head in a manner like he's forgotten he's in a human body. After a moment his shoulders slump down a little and he lets out a deep breath, it almost rattles the way a purr would, low in his gut. 

"Watching you do all this for the temple, it's unlike anything else I've seen. When you're not here, other people pass by, that's usually when I hear things, but they don't do much other than comment and say what a shame it is. Then they move on." Jongdae's looking down at his hands, his nails are blunt, dirt crusted beneath them. 

"I'm not doing it for merit," Yixing says, "I'm doing it because something like this shouldn't be destroyed. Even if policies change. When I was born, it was beneath the cat and so I want to respect that the best I can while I can."

Jongdae bothers to look bashful for a moment, "I don't think you've ever told me what your name is."

Yixing actually smiles, "It's Yixing,"

"Oh," Jongdae blinks and if he had cat ears, Yixing's sure they'd flicker. "Yixing. You know Yixing, does the god exist within you? Because I don't think I've--"

"No," Yixing says like he's used to it. He isn't really. "All my brothers have it though. But you—"

Jongdae's expression becomes difficult to read. "You could say I'm not as common in my type of ... piety."

"Ah," Yixing can tell by his ambiguous tone he's not quite in the mood to be pushed so Yixing doesn't press. "I did bring food, if you want any—there's some robes I'd found in the barracks the other day—"

"Oh," Jongdae's mouth forms a perfect 'o,' "I apologize, I've been the cat for I don't know how long at this point," he says moving his knee up to cover himself. 

"No, no, it's no trouble," Yixing's already getting up to head into the courtyard. "You'll get cold too," he's standing now, looking at Jongdae as if he were the cat again. Wide owlish eyes and a curved back. "You won't leave will you?" Yixing doesn't expect the little hint of fear in his voice when he says it. Even Jongdae looks taken aback by the assumption.

"I'll be right here when you get back. Don't worry."

Jongdae looks even smaller swallowed in the silk of the attendant robes. Delicate and dyed off white, the tie around the middle patterned with the devotee hierarchy colors. It falls over his shoulders and exposes his collar if he's not actively pulling it tighter around himself. 

He sits there barefoot and attentive, he's pressing the pads of his fingers curiously into the tiny paint pots and pressing the dots of color into the hem of the robe he's wearing. 

Between painting Yixing shares the food he'd brought, he almost doesn't notice the way Jongdae bites into a particularly thick piece of beef, the way his canines seem sharper than a normal human’s. Minseok did say teeth were a variable but Yixing's never seen it to this extent. The way Jongdae tears through it soft like tofu. He almost wolfs down his portion, it's gone in a moment. Yixing finds eating with someone is often better than eating alone given the choice. 

Jongdae laughs for the first time when Yixing says something about bringing him a knife block since he clearly does upkeep on his teeth and Jongdae's laugh fills the large open space so fully if Yixing closes his eyes it's like it's bustling with life once more, it gives Yixing a warmth his own robes haven’t necessarily been giving him as the sun continues to drop. 

Yixing paints until the daylight is gone and he's not quite sure what his next step is. 

Jongdae's eyes have blown black as if he were still the cat. He seems to have no trouble still with knowing which color is which while Yixing almost painted a yellow rosette pink and thus decided to turn in for the day. He hadn't brought a lantern because he never planned on staying until nightfall. 

Jongdae isn't looking at Yixing when he says, "I know you have to go, don't let me keep you."

Yixing's brows draw together, "Will you still—" he'd almost forgotten. "Jongdae," he says instead and Jongdae goes rigid in his spot. "I think for the time being you should stay away from here. Just to be safe, if I don't come back within the month—"

"It's okay," he says, putting the paint tin down, "I'll be here when you are and when you're not, I'll keep my distance, I'd hate to lose ..." Jongdae chews his lip, "I'll be careful if that's what you're asking." 

Yixing doesn't quite know what to reply so he simply nods. With a smile that feels more melancholy than anything, Yixing lets Jongdae slip into one of the back rooms to store his robe to effectively become cat once more. Knowing Jongdae probably escaped through a window in the back, Yixing leaves too. 

…

His own mother's quarters are in the same pocket as the other wives after the empress, a nestled inlet of gardens and granite bridges over inset ponds and reaching pines. 

Yixing's mother reaches his shoulder, her silky black hair pulled back and secured with an ornate pearl pin. She sips at her tea, unsweetened and fragrant while she relays her forays into helping to raise the crown prince as the empress is often too busy to do it on her own. 

"He reminds me of you Yixing," she's saying over morning tea, hot broth and rice. 

Instead of replying Yixing follows suit and sips of his broth, he can taste the rich pork and the sharp bitter quality of the radish. 

So she continues unfazed, doesn't notice his hesitation, "The little velvet antlers, they're really starting to grow in now, it's just precious he hasn't yet learned to hide them," she's smiling fondly. "He loves hearing the stories about the guidance animals— he doesn't quite like the ones some of the lord's have been telling him about his new status as a lone deer—but what child likes those stories anyway—"

"He doesn't ... like those stories?" Yixing sits up straighter on his cushion. "What about them does he not like?"

His mother raises a brow, "Well, while the original creation myth has the deer figure as more of a facilitator, this 'new' version gives a different look that doesn't seem to fit. To a child, it's inconsistent." 

Yixing sighs, "No one seems to be taking to it," he stares into his teacup, "it's felt surreal, the lack of awareness—"

"Yixing," her tone is firm, "You've already been reprimanded as it is, I don't need you ending up in some place you shouldn't be."

"You have to know this isn't irrational," Yixing says. "That it's much more trouble than it's worth." 

His mother is quiet for a moment, she sips her broth and looks out the window, a large wooden circle surrounded by tea green wallpaper, to the birds chirping among the branches and the gentle wash of the river that flow through the quarter. 

"Once His Majesty chooses to do something then there is very little chance he will go back on it," she says quietly. "I understand you the most, my son. I don't know if I've ever really understood the emperor, but he gave me you and so it is you I will protect first and foremost. Yixing, don't feel shame for what you did as a child. Every child has done similar, please don't think you're obligated to—" 

"But I want to," Yixing says, he thinks of the cat sleeping on the deck, he thinks of the man swamped in old clergy robes. "It's something important to all of us and it should be kept. I think the crown prince would agree honestly."

She exhales in both resignation and relief, "How unfortunate it is then, that the crown prince has yet the ability to put forth his thoughts into political action then," is what she says and Yixing gives her a watery smile. 

"Had he been born closer to Sehun, then maybe he could have already had a hand in preventing it." Yixing agrees. 

"All we can do now Yixing is to let the king go about his whims as he sees fit until he deems the situation to his liking. The baby is much of the same in the nursery," she tries not to laugh but Yixing can see the laugh lines at the corner of her eyes, the raw mirth she gains from this boy. "In the meantime, you'll promise me you'll stay out of harm's way? I know I can't stop you from going like you've got something to prove but Yixing I want you to know that you never needed to prove anything, your god—our god accepts us with no questions asked, please don't think them ungracious."

Yixing gives her a slight respectful bow of his head. "I'll work on not being as presumptuous mother, I apologize."

"Run along my little sheep, even I have business to attend to," she'd never quite stopped when she started all those years ago and never once has Yixing felt a sour taste in his mouth from her. Never her. 

…

The baths in the temple barracks are dusty stone and parched elm wood for the floors and tubs. Two large inset stone bowls each cover a half of the narrow room, surrounded by wooden panels newly wet with water. In front of each are two lower points to serve as draining.

They also require multiple well trips to fill completely. Jongdae complains of his large hand me down robes as being bogged down in the water that soaks through. 

"I take it menial work is your specialty," he's being cheeky as he scrubs the edge of the smoothed down rock. "Even as a prince, they don't let you just laze around do they?"

Yixing exhales quickly through his nose, "From dawn until dusk usually, for the first few years of my adolescent life, it was lesson after lesson, a prince should be well rounded and hard working. Never stop working." He says circling around a particularly stubborn spot on the wood of the floor. 

Jongdae snorts, "That sure sounds, dare I say it, like your golden years, and now what has brought you here, practically searching for something to put you to work?"

"I'm simply the eldest now Temple Cat," Yixing says like he's tired, worn down like the stone of the tub. "I raise my brothers and then go back to my own business whatever that may be."

Jongdae's quiet for a moment, "You know, you're not as useless as you think you are," his voice has gone low and steady, measured. "Whoever resides in this temple is very ... thankful for you."

Jongdae gives Yixing a gentle look that's akin to a kitten nestling closer to warmth in complete content, his brows drawn together. Yixing isn't facing him, he's near the door, using the bucket to wash away some newly disturbed dirt down one of the draining points. 

Yixing frowns briefly, "It's the least I could do," is all he says and then they work in silence for a long while. Until Yixing's hands feel rubbed raw and red and Jongdae's starting to take more breaks and longer each time. 

Yixing remembers him smelling of forest and bright summer air. 

"You said you hadn't been human in a while, how long has it been?" 

Jongdae peeks an eye open from where he's sitting beneath the window on the other side of the tub. 

Jongdae hums, "Ah, how long had it been?" He shifts his shoulders, settling in more and opens his eyes. "I was only just an adult when the clergymen decided that the rituals weren't necessary anymore and that they would be leaving the temple as the new order was a more communal based one, I didn't have parents, not that I can remember anyway but all I know is that I was born beneath the sign of the cat and that I could become one when the kids I played with could only sprout ears and tails, I was different—but long story short, the old tradition broke down and I found myself alone, they didn't leave me with much of anything," he says it like he's reciting it for the first time. "So I'd say a few years at least. I lost concept of time and only had the seasons to measure anything by, I forgot customs and modesty and nuance in favor of survival, it's what I was taught I was made for. So I put it to use,"

Jongdae's fingers curl beneath the long sleeves covering his hands, they could be paws. 

"I'm glad I could—you seem like you needed someone to talk to too," Yixing says finally putting the cloth down in the bucket. The sun is high now and Yixing feels a little sticky on his skin. 

"Perhaps I did," Jongdae smiles. "I also forgot the idea of a hot bath," he laughs, "But I'm a cat, I clean myself often," he sounds pleased. 

Yixing snorts, "And yet your scent is reminiscent of the pond down the hill," he gets the crumpled up scrubbing cloth thrown at him for his trouble. 

"You mean lotus and baked earth," Jongdae says pushing back but Yixing’s already standing with his still half full bucket and Jongdae had a feeling he knows what Yixing is about to do and he's not used to his limbs being this long and he can't react fast enough before the bucket is overturned and he’s completely soaked and Yixing is laughing full heartedly in a joy that bounces off the walls and stops short in the thick heat. 

Jongdae gives in easily, cheeks a little red as he pulls off the robe from the nape right over his head and he's asking Yixing to start filling the tub because, "This is your doing and so it will be done," and Yixing still laughing goes along with it. Jongdae sits cross legged at the bottom of the shallow curve, he’s holding a ornately carved bar of soap, he smooths his hand over the lines that denote petals and the little dried blooms within it while Yixing pours water and it goes milky. 

"It wasn't that bad," Yixing says dumping the last bucket of lukewarm water into the tub before he settles down on the floor facing Jongdae who's scrubbing the soap through his hair with his eyes squeezed shut. 

"Don't patronize me," Jongdae says pouting, "grooming myself is enough out there." 

"I wouldn't dream of it." Yixing's own pants and robe are soaked at the knees and hem. Jongdae's bringing his cupped hands up full of water to rinse, there's little flecks of dried blossoms coming off the soap. 

It looks almost ritualistic in and of itself, Jongdae, soaked to the bone, his black hair plastered to his face, dried cherry blossoms at his roots, stark against the black, stark against the black blocks down his nape, they worship him while Yixing still wonders truly about what he is, they already know. 

Yixing raises a hand, reaching for him to help him rinse but he pulls back. Jongdae's scrubbing at his arms now and at his sides and he's complaining about his clothes again. 

"They're just too big—not to mention dirty now—you did say I smelt of pond water and I take great offense to that—"

"Oh," Yixing says abruptly enough both Jongdae's eyes snap open. 

"What?" 

"I brought you some clothes, I almost forgot—they're back in the temple let me go get them—we're done scrubbing today anyway," Yixing stands and he's telling Jongdae to stay right there. Yixing can still hear him shouting as he runs from the baths back down the short path to the temple. 

When Yixing returns, on his back is his usual satchel that he brings with his supplies for the day. 

Jongdae's sitting on the edge, his skin curiously dry despite it only having been a minute or two, but his hair still dark and damp. The robe lies across one of his thighs in a wet heap. 

Yixing gestures for him to come as he digs in the satchel and pulls out a small thick bundle of glossy patterned blue. 

"I brought this for you," he says again as Jongdae comes in closer. He looks unsure and Yixing places it into his hands. "It's only been worn once. You're about the same size as my younger brother so I figured you should have it,"

"Yixing," Jongdae murmurs, looking down at it. "You know I'm comfortable as a cat, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Yixing says, "and I don't want you to think I'm trying to—"

"Of course not," there's a small smile curling at his lips. "You just agree that those robes aren't very flattering on me," Yixing cracks a smile too, "and you don't want me to be uncomfortable—"

"Or too cold," Yixing says, "I like talking to you. I do like the cat too but—"

"There's only so much I can give you with growls and tail wags huh?" Jongdae doesn't sound affronted, in fact he sounds more in agreement. "It's been nice having someone else to talk to. Hearing someone else's voice. It's a welcome change of pace," He says unraveling the bundle and pulling out the pants first. They're soft and durable, a lighter canvas color that tapers at the ankle, made for boots to cover. 

"Here let me," Yixing takes the rest of the clothes while Jongdae pulls them on. He hands Jongdae a similar colored tunic piece after Jongdae ties the drawstring in a sloppy knot that Yixing finds too endearing to correct.

When Yixing unfurls the robe, it's long and silky blue, patterned with embroidered swirls akin to smoke, Jongdae holds it in his hands for a moment, just smoothing the fabric beneath his thumbs. "Are you sure?"

"It's okay," Yixing says, "You should have it. You deserve nice clothes too," he watches Jongdae pull one arm through the sleeve then the other, he layers one side over the other and then Yixing's shaking his head. 

"Let me," Yixing slides his fingers back into the folds and relayers it the other way, "You're not deceased last time I checked," he's smiling while he pulls the last tie from where it's held beneath his arm. The way Yixing's hands work, methodical and measured much like he does with everything else as he pulls the thick tie around Jongdae's small waist. Jongdae can only watch from beneath his lashes, mouth gently parted in silence and wonder at the care that Yixing puts into everything he does. 

Yixing ties it not too tight, but in an elementary fold that he remembers but hasn't used since he was a child.

Jongdae's almost scarily still, letting Yixing do as he pleases. His eyes just following Yixing's fingers and hands as he dresses him. The way Yixing's finger slips beneath a crease to smooth it out. 

"You don't have to wear it, of course not," he's saying eyes still trained on knot in the back of the sash. "You can be a cat whenever you please. By all means don't let me stop you. You're a very beautiful cat, one I'd never seen before and three times the size," Yixing chuckles. "The god that walks within you is strong and will protect you through anything," if Yixing were looking he'd have caught the way Jongdae's bottom lip trembles, or the way he hesitates in bringing up his hand to stop Yixing. But he doesn't and Yixing doesn't see it. 

"Thank you," is all Jongdae says, he scrunches his nose and tries not to sniffle. He takes one deep breath to level himself out. "So," he sounds marginally more upbeat. "Does it fit me? Am I a princely figure?"

"As good as any," Yixing says, clearly pleased with the outcome. 

Jongdae looks like there’s a certain poise he cannot fit within but wears as a disguise effortlessly. The line of his body still easy and commanding in the clothes, slinking and coy like the cat through the trees. He's still wild, the silky blue like the rush of the river shining beneath the sun soaking through the top layer of his coat, his hair is still wild, a black ruffle of hair that nearly covers his eyes, Yixing dosen't think he'd ever cut it or pin it back, it wouldn't be Jongdae without it. He's still barefoot, it would be a loss of connection for Jongdae that would undoubtedly make him restless. 

"So," Jongdae says, watching Yixing rummage around again in his satchel, "Knowing you, I'm sure cleaning the baths wasn't all you had in mind. After all, you did have twice the hands this time."

"Actually I was planning on something else today if we finished in time. But after lunch then we'll tackle it."

After they slide the door open to the baths to allow it to dry, they walk back along the buildings to the main barrack that has its own deck that it shares with the courtyard of the temple, albeit smaller, the circular opening is deep black iron work with tiny smoothed motifs that recall the curved spine of a cat. Yixing sits down on the set of stairs that leads to the path with Jongdae following suit and together they eat in the shade of the elms that hang over them. 

After they've both had their fill, Yixing wanders back into the building saying he'll be back in a moment. Jongdae spends the moment looking out at the courtyard and counting the birds he sees in the branches. The rodents he sees scurrying across the ground, their minute disturbances of the grasses. It's habit and by the time he's counted nearly seven of them Yixing has settled back down next to him. 

"I'd been meaning to do this since I found them last." In Yixing's hands are another silky bundle, the edges are frayed and water stained. Perhaps there was a leak. 

Yixing holds onto two corners and lets the rest tumble down akin to rivulets to his knees. 

It's another tapestry. This one the embroidered form of a white cat sitting on its haunches, it's bordered with vines and white lilies, curled in the circle of its tail are a patch of small red roses, and the backs of its ears are elaborate patterns of red. One ear appears to be sporting loose thread, it's unraveling in an attempt to be the vines that surround it. The whole of the corner is pulled from its base cloth and its threads curling and dangling. 

"Are you gonna fix that?" Jongdae says following it with his eyes as it sways in the gentle breeze. 

"That's the plan." Yixing replies, gathering it up again in his hands before he sits back down. Without any preamble he's pulling threads and needles from his bag, with one of his carving knives, Yixing first begins to snip the loose threads as close to the base fabric as he can. Until it feels smooth beneath his fingers. Loose threads raining down into his lap like fallen leaves being plucked from the branch by a fluttering wind. 

It's a long painstaking process where Yixing takes no short cuts as he pulls little frayed threads loose with his finger nails and holds a particularly long one away from his work area by wrapping it around his finger. Yixing then threads the needle with a precision Jongdae doesn't think he could do and Yixing begins to knot the loose ends on the other side, making the cut threads appear to stop in a natural curve that he can then add on to afterwards. 

Jongdae watches Yixing choose a glossy silver thread and begin to reconstruct the ear where the light shines upon it, he works relatively quick pushing needle through and then plucking it back up at a practiced speed that Jongdae gets lulled by and begins to nod off. 

Jongdae begins to bounce his knee, not quite ready to nap yet, not when Yixing's right there, he can sleep later. Yixing barely notices him begin to untie the knot at his back, pulling the sash free. He folds it and puts it at his side. Followed by the robe that looks almost crystalline beneath the shade, then the tunic and lastly his pants. Yixing definitely noticed when he stood up and began to push them down. 

Instead of commenting he says, eyes still trained on the point of the needle, "Does it feel better? To be a cat I mean."

Jongdae squats there and frowns, "I guess I'm just used to it. The clothes do feel a little constricting," Jongdae admits, "But they're beautiful and I'll put them back on when you're done. I'll just be right here." He says and then he turns. It's almost surreal to watch. The curve of his back elongates and black fur begins to sprout at the crest. Where his tail bone lays flat, a tail begins to curl out from his body, ears rising out of his hair and claws lost within his fingers. Until there's a panther lying there, Jongdae yawns audibly, an irritated little growl that makes Yixing snort a little. 

"This takes patience little cat," Yixing says smiling and Jongdae's heavy tail smacks the dirt as if in contradiction. 

It's a comfortable silence where Yixing works and Jongdae does nap briefly. Jongdae stirs once Yixing's fully completed weaving up the frayed edges of the fabric. It's shiny gold thread twined endlessly together rounding the sharp corners and playing off the green of the vines that looks baked by the sun figuratively and physically. 

Yixing's in the middle of a three toned leaf when he hears the rustling in front of him, he looks up to find Jongdae rolling back and forth in the grasses, tail flicking back and forth playfully, his belly exposed and soft looking, stretched while he lounges. 

"You're stunting the plants I just weeded," Yixing says idly, the needle between his teeth while he pulls a questionable thread completely taut with his fingers. 

Jongdae chuffs and exhales sharp through his nose. Yixing gives him an expectant look and Jongdae's ears just peel back and he drops his once playfully swaying tail bluntly into the grass. 

Yixing goes back to the second rather involved leaf, threading a deeper green then a burnt orange and finishing up the highlights with a bright shock of silvery green. He glances up quickly and Jongdae's human again. Just lying there on his back, face up to the sky, his eyes gently shut. The grass suddenly looks like it's cradling his bare body, the soft sun brittle blades fanning across his skin and his face. 

Jongdae is the first to speak, not that Yixing expected him to breach the topic at all. 

"I lied," He says, eyes still closed. When Yixing doesn't immediately question, Jongdae continues. "About when I said they left me with nothing. They left me with a whole temple." He laughs a little. "A whole damn temple and expected me to somehow carry it, to take care of it." He takes a breath so deep his chest rises noticeably. "It wasn't too difficult, they were right, it became a communal thing for the villages to send those born beneath the cat to maintain upkeep and keeping things running. No one really knew about me," Jongdae pauses, "I mean, you don't really even know about me," he looks apologetic. Turns his head to the side where Yixing's paused in his own work. 

"Then tell me everything," he says as easily as anything and Jongdae's breath shudders like something's been lifted off him. 

"Like I said, I was different. I can become a complete cat being while no one else can. It's a sign of my heritage, I'm the last closest descendant to the gods of this temple, is what I was told. And because of what I can become, I believe it. Everyone before was like me until it lessened and lessened until only vestigial characteristics were left and even some never get them. The black marks on my neck, you've only seen similar ones on only a small handful of the figures you've restored I'm sure. They mean the 'most pious,' they mean 'he who walks in god's direct image'," Jongdae stares at the clouds, "Not that I asked to be." 

Yixing puts the tapestry to this side, rests the needles carefully uptop it. "And just what did you really want?"

"I wanted," Jongdae inhales sharp and shakey, "ever since I could remember, I don't think I've ever been asked what I wanted. I could recite to you the every tenant of the twelve faith system by memory, to suddenly have just an inordinate amount of choice and to have to make every single one on my own was debilitating. I fled as soon as I could. The clergy left me to find the next descendant and I didn't. I was supposed to carry on their work but I didn't think I could put anyone else through what I was put through."

Yixing doesn't want to interrupt him so he merely gives him a comforting look. That it's okay to say whatever he needs to. 

"I was a son of the temple. Husband of the temple, no marriage, complete and utter abstinence, I was the walking temple guide--god I should say. 'remain pure as they,' with the ritual they believed it would make me the new father of the temple. No one tells the villagers this, the worshippers of the twelve faith system. That's why it crumbled, it was like secret keeping and one faction broke off because they didn't agree with the way it was run and then the result was me alone, with this temple. One of the strict faction became the spiritual advisor at the palace and then the burnings started—"

"Jongdae," Yixing says, careful to suppress his urge to go to him, "I want to apologize for that, I want to stop it—"

"It's okay Yixing," Jongdae closes his eyes, "I'm at peace because of you. You taught me that the communal system is the only way to continue this system rightfully. I wanted to thank you for keeping me here."

Yixing gives him a tender look, one that he cannot express in words. Together they sort of stare at one another, Jongdae, suddenly the god and now suddenly, mercifully, the equal. All in the space of a few minutes. 

"I always felt guilty for not being as loyal when I was a child," Yixing says quietly, "I thought, and I still do, think that I don't deserve this—you, seeing you that day was a sign and that sign told me that you were meant to be there and I was meant to be here. I feel like I could never completely atone for it, but you make me think it's possible."

Jongdae's gone silent like his words are stuck in his throat. 

"Come here little cat," Yixing says, patting the space next to him, "I'll teach you." 

Jongdae gets up slowly, every part of him as wild as the inside with his unruly hair and forest scarred skin. Yixing holds out his hand and as soon as Jongdae's close enough, he takes it and lets Yixing pull him into his arms, nestle next to him.

Jongdae smushes his cheek against Yixing's shoulder as he teaches him about the thread and the needle and the technique and he absorbs it all the best he can. He helps Yixing complete the cat's face and the markings down its back, Jongdae relaxes no longer being the focus, fully bare as he's most comfortable. Yixing impresses upon him as a result to be more careful with the needles and earns a pout for his trouble. 

Together they finish the tapestry and Jongdae can see it but he can also feel it that he's finally apart of something that he chose himself. 

…

Baekhyun's horse is piebald and skittish, it trots along the inside of the path with Minseok on the outside with his bold rose grey that whines when it doesn’t get what it wants. 

Sehun's own dappled grey follows at their heels with Yixing beside him on his chestnut.

It's the official start of the autumn season and offerings are usually placed at the temple throughout the month resulting in the autumn celebration at the end of the season, there's naturally a damper knowing they're the only ones placing offerings this year as the palace remains firm in its dismantling of the faith system. 

Minseok ties up his horse and the rest of them follow subsequently, inside the gate. In their arms are colorful rice flour sweets and paper wrapped bread buns filled with sweet egg and quail. Sehun with the help of Baekhyun had even hand written decorative prayer cards they painted themselves. 

Before the altar cats they set down the offerings and Minseok begins the prayer, he apologizes for not being able to give them the thanks of thousands as there are only four of them. 

Baekhyun wanted to bring the crown prince, "He'd love it," but the liability was just too great. 

The four of them bow on their knees, it gives Yixing a sudden sickly flash of the emperor before them instead of the cats. They'd promised not to intervene anymore but it became clear who was more precious to them. 

"It's not treasonous to say he's ill, it's a fact." Sehun's saying while they decorate the statues with garlands of lilies and prayer flowers.

"I've heard the rumors around," Baekhyun says from behind one of the large paws whose crevices he's filling with handfuls of golden primrose. "The people are saying it's the spirits enacting revenge on him for destroying their homes." 

Minseok sighs, "When aren't you listening to hearsay?"

Baekhyun pouts, "Maybe when it stops being informative I'll stop listening," he corrects a crooked bloom. 

"He's right Minseok," Yixing says, "they feel little pity for him and the palace ever since he thought it necessary to take away one of the things that gave their lives color, I—"

"And that's reason enough to wish death upon him?"

Baekhyun shrugs, "They've done it for less," and Sehun tries to stifle his laugh on the other side of the altar.

"The three of you are much too inclined to defy the state you serve," Minseok’s shaking his head knowing full well he's standing in the same restricted temple they are.

"And the devil's advocate must be one of your good friends," Yixing can barely hold in his own laugh and the others are following suit and the temple feels alive and it feels right for the first time in a long time. 

Yixing runs out briefly just as Minseok's asking about the strays Yixing said were there, as he'd forgotten a small token he wanted to drop into the offering table. 

He's got it clutched in his hands when he hears a soft low whine behind him. Jongdae's standing near the opening of the temple, out of sight of those inside. Jongdae makes his way forward towards Yixing. 

"I was wondering if I'd see you today Temple Cat," Yixing smiles, running his thumb back between Jongdae's ears which he peels to the sides flat. Jongdae rubs his body against Yixing's shin, curling his tail around his leg and once the circle is complete, he gives the back of Yixing's hand a gentle lick with a rough tongue that makes Yixing grimace but he doesn't pull away. 

"Yixing ge, what is that?" Is the first thing out of Sehun's mouth. Yixing almost jumps and Jongdae simply freezes before he's staring straight at Sehun like he'll charge if there's any sudden movements. 

"That's Sehun," Yixing says, "my younger brother. He means no harm," Jongdae huffs but his tail resumes a more relaxed sway behind him. "This is the cat of this temple Sehun, treat him well,"

Sehun eyes are wide but it's dawning on him with each moment. "You only see cats like that up north," Sehun says, "it's much too warm down here."

Yixing smiles, "It's amazing isn't it?"

"He really must live at this temple Yixing ge," Sehun takes a step closer and Jongdae's sitting on his haunches at Yixing's side, remarkably calm. Sehun's giving a brief respectful bow when Baekhyun's head peeks out from behind him, his eyes go wide too and so do the ears on his head popping out and up. 

Baekhyun follows suit and gives a small bow before he hurries forward ahead of Sehun.

"You gave me these," he flicks his finger against an ear that flexes back then forwards. He sounds happy and thankful and Yixing gives Jongdae a pat on the head between the ears. "Thank you," Baekhyun smiles at Jongdae. "I should go get Minseok ge," Baekhyun makes to turn around just as Minseok appears there between him and Sehun. 

Minseok's eye brows raise up closer to his hairline. "Are you the guardian of this temple?" 

Jongdae makes a low noise that sounds relatively affirming and Minseok follows suit and bows gently, "May you keep us safe and we promise to do the same for you." 

Jongdae circles the temple while they finish decorating the inside, being safe to leave the outside as plain as possible to not attract attention, Baekhyun's not afraid, in fact none of them are. He follows Jongdae around with curious eyes and Jongdae never seems to mind, he yawns and lazes around on the floor in front of the altar like he always does. 

Together they drop their coins and tokens into the offering table, it's slats of wood that collects at the bottom, up top it is a small wooden mallet that when struck against the slats to signify a monetary offering, it sounds distinctly chimelike, like the wood is hollow and within are thin balls of metal. 

They bow in front of the altar behind Jongdae's sleepy form and pray for safe travel. Jongdae follows them out to their horses, where Baekhyun's horse whinnies high and Baekhyun must rein him in. Sehun even presses a reverent palm between Jongdae's ears before they leave. Yixing tells Jongdae that they'll be around more often to compensate for the lack of community wide offering and Jongdae purrs audibly against his hand. Yixing's not used to Jongdae being a cat the entire time, in fact, these days, he's usually human once he hears Yixing call out to him as soon as he steps foot into the temple. 

The ride home is in noticeably higher spirits, even from when they left, Sehun's still in marginal awe and each time he thinks of it all over again, he mutters a small prayer and Yixing chuckles at his antics and ruffles his hair. 

The closer they get to the temple, the weirder Yixing starts to feel. The usual check points are missing royal guardsmen all the way up unto the proper palace gate where they're met with a group of twenty royal guard, seemingly amassed from the checkpoints. Together they collectively bow at the four of them and they they say they are to make it to the throne room as soon as possible. 

Minseok's face is suddenly stern as they ride through. Baekhyun and Sehun look suddenly pale, all of them get the feeling something must be wrong and they're all scared of what it could be. Deep down they all have a feeling but none of them voice it. It's now inappropriate to do so more so than it ever was. 

The emperor has passed away. 

…

With the whole advisory council in white, the room looks as it if were an ocean fleet ready to take sail into the red panel seas. 

The empress sits in his throne like the lead ship, white robes tumbling down the seat, her own face obscured by the thin white gossamer head piece she wears. 

The four eldest sons are kneeling in front of her, Yixing at the head. 

One lord asks that she reconsider her decision to give up the throne as she does not want her son in danger should they be accused of conspiracy or murder. 

"Instate one of the military chiefs until the crown prince is of age," She's repeating. "Anyone. Take anyone. Don't touch my son," her voice is barely there, raspy and desperate, the picture of a mourning empress. 

"The military chiefs, none of them are fit for the throne," one of the advisors says, some of them look on in disbelief, but speaking up and out of turn would do them a disservice. So they stay silent.

"Chief Xu Qi could--"

"Your Majesty, please reconsider and lead the country, your people need you—"

"Send one of the sons—"

"The eldest—" 

"He can take the king's place until the crown prince is of age," more and more of them are saying and the energy in the room is beginning to feel more and more stifling and Yixing's chest clenches, and his face grows hot. To use him as the scapegoat, an interim sacrifice until the crown prince can take his place and Yixing knows there's nothing he can do once his name is thrown in. 

"Instate him. Crown him. Anything." The empress says drawing her fists tight. "Before this country goes to war over the throne, secure it before it's impossible and this whole palace is tried for murder over distrust. A distrust that we did not cultivate." She stands and the rest of them immediately kneel. 

"I must go pray at the temple for forgiveness, he will be enthroned before we have lost control of the state."

"Your Majesty," Yixing says firmly and loudly. With another deep breath he says, "I would be honored to take the throne until the crown prince is of age. It would be a privilege," the room has gone quiet and Yixing's rapidly fraying. It's accept or be accused.

The empress stills. "Begin the proceedings, as soon as our mourning period has passed, he will become emperor and he will lead this country." 

"Yes, Your Majesty," the council repeats at once, their heads still down. 

With that the empress sweeps from the room, the royal guard at her heels ready to follow her to the Temple of the Deer. 

Yixing can't really feel anything in his limbs, but with a confidence he doesn't feel either, he stands and the whole council remains kneeled. 

"Begin the proceedings," he says, "we must be ready once the funeral has transpired."

"Yes, Your Majesty," one says, "He is your king, do you not respect him?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the rest of them chorus, "Yes, Your Majesty," they repeat with a conviction so sharp Yixing feels it in his throat. He'd given up the thought so long ago, just the idea of it happening is making him sick, in these circumstance nonetheless. But he has no choice.

"Yes, Your Majesty," they repeat once more. Yixing's afraid to look in his brothers' eyes, knows that they are repeating it too, steadfast as ever. Proud as ever. 

Over the next day, Yixing with Minseok's ready help, assists him in the funeral proceedings and subsequent induction to the throne set to happen a week after the funeral before the country begins to point fingers. 

"They kind of already are," Minseok says as they're walking along the deck that surrounds the palace's main building. A looming structure of bright red pillars, tall stone walls and golden drip tile. "Mostly the spirits however," Minseok says quietly, "they think it's penance."

Yixing holds his hands behind his back, he sighs deeply, "We'll never know that much." 

Minseok nods along with his assessment. Choosing to change the topic, he clears his throat and says, "We're proud of you Yixing. For stepping up like this. You didn't have to—"

"I think I did," Yixing says, "If I didn't, the palace would be chaos. I wouldn't wish that on any of you," he massages the bridge of his nose, "This is better than forcing any of you to do it. I'm okay with taking the responsibility. I'm the eldest. It's my duty, Minseok."

"Yixing ge, listen to me." Minseok pauses him with an arm. "The three of us will help the best we can. Don't ask us not to or you'll have to prosecute us for going against your orders," there's a little humorous lilt in his lip, it's playful. Yixing swallows and tries not to feel utterly hopeless. 

"I trust you," is all he says and Minseok knows when he's short of word, it's best to leave him to his thoughts for a while. So Minseok excuses himself to go check on their brothers. 

It's still the beginning of a month long mourning period, the general public has yet to be informed of the loss, but Yixing has a feeling there are rumors. Every door to the palace carries a white banner above the gate, that's sign enough for passersby. The dead themselves the only unknown variable at this point. But with the empress visiting the temple up to three times a day, in a white robe that trails behind her and headpiece delicate white lace, elaborate enough no one could mistake her for anyone else, Yixing fears that the secret is already out. 

Yixing had agreed with the council to announce the news the day before the funeral as to give the country a moment to gather offerings before the emperor is laid to rest. 

Yixing finds it hard to accept the death of the emperor, he finds it hard to mourn, he's still in shock and everything's happening too fast and suddenly he has a whole palace to look after for the foreseeable future. He feels misguided and played with. 

Yixing faces his mother who's wearing a similar white robe to the empress. All the wives are wearing them. 

"Mother," Yixing says looking down at his hands, "I have no plans to marry the empress, I will be dismissing all of His Majesty's consorts and wives. That includes you. You deserve peace now," Yixing's murmuring, "But the crown prince, I've decided, in agreement with the empress, to raise him as my own."

"Yixing," She says, her expression is one of concern. 

"I want him to be better than the emperor, better than me in this situation," Yixing trudges ahead, "after the funeral, I will assume the role of the emperor and I plan to rescind his orders and reinstate the twelve faith system," he pauses. "I wanted to tell you first."

"This isn't at all how imagined it," she's frowning, "I remember when you were born," she stares into her tea cup, "the first son of the king. The empress was about to take you away from me, but I fought for you," Her expression is pensive, her breaths a little shuddering, "even if it meant resigning myself completely if it meant to keeping you."

"... But I was still raised as the Crown Prince?" Yixing's brows draw together, "I remember ever since I was ten and even before that. All the lessons, the empress—"

"I fought for you," she covers her mouth, "but I still lost you, you were hers until she fell pregnant and she could feel it was a son. At last you were given back to me. My precious baby boy. If the advisor had said the next guidance sign were that of a cat-- in that moment I did hope, I did pray for you that it would work out. I just didn't want you to have to live the way you were, tossed to the wayside."

Yixing's quick to scramble around the low table to sit next to her. He slips his hand into hers, "Mother. My mother, you've taught me everything. You taught me to nurture and you taught me to fight and you taught me to love in so many different ways. I failed. I was the one that failed you. You did what you could, I couldn't reach the expectations you set."

"Come here my baby kitten," she smiles so gently Yixing thinks he can't see the sadness. She holds him in her arms, and Yixing slips his arms around her middle. She still smells like orchid oil and the gentle aroma of the jasmine she drinks every morning. 

"I'll do this for you," Yixing says against her collar, against the pad of fabric, it's soft against his cheek. "You guide me, mother, just as any guidance animal has thus far."

She laughs a little, runs her hands through his hair, "My grown up boy, don't place me up there with the gods—"

"I will because you deserve it," Yixing pouts, he knows she can tell by his tone he's pouting and Yixing can feel the uneven breath in her small chuckle. 

"I know you're still scared my baby," she says moving her hand down to rub at his back. "But don't be, I'll be here. Our god will be there, your brothers will be there too. You are by no means alone in this."

"Thank you," Yixing looks up at her and watches her pull back the veil and press a kiss to his forehead. She still looks the same, her looking down at him as she holds onto his hand in the temple all those years ago. Yixing pulls away, "I won't disappoint you, I'll commit to this duty for our country and for you," he scoots back enough to bow to her, "Queen Mother," he says reverently in the silence and bows low. 

She squeezes her own hand and doesn't stop him. 

…

"Do you plan on doing the twelve rite passage Yixing ge?" Baekhyun says a week later. He's braced on the wooden railing of the balcony of Yixing's own room. He won't be transferred to the emperor's quarters until after the funeral is completed. "It is part of tradition and Jongin's too young to do it. You're the crown prince as it stands right now anyway." 

Yixing sits crosslegged at his desk, over a poetry scroll he isn't really reading, it's going in through his eyes and immediately out through his ears before he can even grasp the concept. 

He scratches his head, "Would that even be appropriate?"

Baekhyun turns around then, holds his hands up, palms open. "Not in an official capacity it wouldn't. Not until you've rescinded the order."

Yixing exhales sharply through his nose, "I'd like to though. I think it would help the emperor rest in his next life, to be relieved of his sins." 

"So you'll go?" Baekhyun's gone a little quiet, "Yixing ge, I know I don't think I can stop you now that you've decided but you don't know what you could see. We don't need our emperor to be at risk. Take a royal guard with you—"

"I won't." Yixing says shortly and Baekhyun deflates. "If I'm going to visit each shrine in mourning, I will do it as tradition dictates. Alone. As the crown prince, even interim, it is my duty to honor His Majesty in the way that every emperor before him has been prepared before he is permanently passed on."

"Just be careful ge," Baekhyun says, "I thought you'd decided not to, that's why I asked." His smile is one of near resignation. "You can tell the council you plan to go at least, I don't think they can stop you."

"I plan to, I'll leave this week and by the time the official procession has begun at the Temple of the Deer, that's where I'll be to lead it."

Yixing spends his remaining time before he leaves crafting offerings specific to each temple and memorizing each one's respective tenant prayer. 

In the dim of the night before he leaves, he tells Minseok that once he's gone to begin setting in motion of the repeal of the emperor's order to cleanse the temples. He presses a handwritten order into Minseok's hands. He has stamped it himself. "Don't let them pressure you, use it before the autumn festival has concluded. Our country deserves that time as they always have to place their offerings," Yixing says, holding Minseok's hands within his. Minseok's nodding in agreement, he looks like he doesn't want to let go. 

"I will Your Majesty," Minseok bows his head and Yixing feels something in his almost burst. "Yixing ge," Minseok smiles and holds Yixing together, "come back to us safe." 

"Tell mother for me."

"Of course," Minseok says, "she'll be proud of you Yixing ge," 

Yixing pulls Minseok into his arms, "Take care of Jongin for us. He's more valuable than any of us," He says against Minseok's shoulder. 

Minseok laughs against Yixing's cheek, he can practically see Minseok's cheerful gummy smile, even if he is holding back tears. 

"He's in safe hands," Minseok says, "I want you to know, if nothing else, that you've proven yourself tenfold. There is no more atonement to be done, no more guilt, you're as pious as they come. Even more than me. Because you don't care if it's hard or not. If it's what needs to be done to make it right, you will do it. You hold my pride Yixing ge," Minseok squeezes for emphasis. "All of us. You do this for no one but you now." 

Yixing can feel his throat going tight. "I'll be back before you know it," he chuckles and it feels watery. 

"You're right," Minseok's laughing along with him, "you'll be here, as our emperor before long,"

Minseok finally pulls away and holds Yixing at arm's length and just searches his face. There's pride in those tears that swell at the corners of his eyes. There's burgeoning responsibility in smooth lids and a certain exhaustion in the way his lips are gently parted. 

Yixing tries not to focus on those things and instead the whole picture of his brother before him. In his own off white robes and golden threaded accents. 

The next morning sees Yixing slipping on a simple navy blue robe set he uses for travel and strapping on the bags of offerings to his horse's saddle, the chestnut is shifting from foot to foot restlessly. Yixing gives their neck a hearty comforting pat and assures them they'll be on the road in a moment. 

The sun is only starting to rise by the time Yixing reaches the Temple of the Cat, it's still dim morning and only birds are trilling in the branches sleepily above. 

Jongdae isn't there. 

Not that he was expecting Yixing. He hurries inside with his small bundle of offerings. 

Before the altar cats that stand still decorated with blossoms and garlands he unfolds an elaborately embroidered place mat he'd sewn up himself. It's of a sitting grey cat, one paw is up and in it is a small red rosette and on its forehead between its ears is a threaded black triangle. It is surrounded by circular green vines and bordered by the golden thread that rounds the corners. 

In the dim, the threads seem to shine glossy like silver when Yixing lights three candles, all three white, stout and in red tinted holders. He bows and presses his forehead to the ground, between his hands. Once he lifts his head, he pushes forward a small clay pot the bottom filled with dark sand and proceeds to press three cored bamboo joss sticks into the sand. He lights them and for a moment appreciates the six little lights before him, they bounce off the dark stone in front of them, light it briefly orange before Yixing blows them out and allows the smoke to curl up while he bows deep once more. 

The sharp scent of the smoky bamboo and fragrant primrose oil and clove meld together and thicken the air as if it were the cats themselves breathing forest and wild into the room while Yixing prays.

Yixing closes his eyes and prays to the cats first and foremost. He praises them for his being his pride for being his protector and for not giving up on the people that worship them. He prays they have returned to the temple and promises they too will have safety and devotion and that which they need. 

When he opens his eyes and raises his head, this time he slides the material offerings of golden primrose blossoms, ripened pomegranates and figs that shine matte in the candle light, and a faceted glass container of water and still warm oolong tea that he slides onto the mat.

He lowers his head once more and begins to pray for his father. He confesses for his father, prays for his safe passage into the afterlife where he will live prosperously there as he did in life. Yixing prays the god's forgive him for his transgressions. That he was misguided too and in the afterlife, as they choose, he will prove himself then as worthy of their preferential treatment. Yixing swallows his pride as the gods can see right through him and asks that they give his father a passage only befitting that of an emperor. 

Yixing raises his head and takes three breaths deep enough his chest visually rises and then bows back down until his forehead is pressed against the floor. He repeats it three more times, murmuring the original tenant prayer to the cats as he rises. Once he has finished he rises completely onto his haunches and with eyes shut, closes the process of prayer with a touch to his forehead with two fingers then his chin then his throat and his chest. 

With that Yixing opens his eyes and stares up at the cats, they all possess a wisdom Yixing cannot even begin to grasp. He sits silent for a few minutes, his mind blissfully blank and lets the warmth of the incense and the smoke envelop him completely, that if he closed his eyes, he could disappear just like the smoke itself. 

Yixing can feel him, "Temple Cat," he turns then in his seat as the cat approaches him on silent paws as if reading the morning of prayer. 

Jongdae nudges Yixing in the back gently with his head before sliding beneath his arm where Yixing slides his fingers through the soft fur. 

"You are no god," Yixing murmurs to him, and Jongdae's ears flick back quickly. "But you are the man I wish to worship," he says so quietly Jongdae probably wouldn't have caught it were he a human. 

Yixing shuts his eyes, "You are as good as any, you taught me patience and commitment, and you taught me that forgiving myself is possible."

He can feel the warm limbs curling into his lap, Jongdae's arms sliding over his shoulders. When Yixing opens his eyes, Jongdae is sitting bare in his lap, thighs framing Yixing's hips. 

"You'd already proved yourself the moment you stepped foot in this temple," Jongdae says resting their foreheads together, Yixing slides his own hands onto Jongdae's waist, one shifting up further beneath his shoulder blade, he's firm and Yixing can't feel his ribs. 

"If I were a god," Jongdae says, "I'd do whatever you asked of me." 

"That would make me the god," Yixing says against his throat. 

Jongdae chuckles, "I'm the closest you're gonna get to one don't push it," he presses a kiss to Yixing's temple. "I'm proud of you." 

Yixing holds him tight, "Jongdae, I will be the emperor—"

Jongdae reads what he means in moments, "I trust you," he says instead of anything else. Instead of condolences, instead of more questions, Yixing's relieved. 

"You still accept me?"

Jongdae blinks slowly, "I have instincts." He says against Yixing's cheek, "more than I trust myself..." he drifts off and he's sliding their lips together and Yixing's never felt so wholly full of warmth. 

He doesn't want to stop kissing him. So he doesn't. 

"This is what I want," Jongdae says breathlessly. "I don't know if I really answered you that one time before, but this," he says, eyes flashing a warm golden, "is what I really want. If I could go back, I'd say so." Jongdae presses their lips together again. "I'd say you, you, you." 

Yixing smiles against his lips, Jongdae's thighs are warm beneath his hands. He kisses against Jongdae's jawline, the stretch of his throat when he lifts his head and the rise of his Adam's apple until he's back at Jongdae's lips and Jongdae is pressed close enough Yixing can feel the half stiff line of his cock against his stomach. 

"You're shameless," Yixing says to him when he pulls away and Jongdae smiles. 

"It's my temple, I am the resident god and what I say goes," He breaks off with a choked breath as Yixing begins to stroke him, the rings of gold are briefly cool against his hands, but they warm up quickly. 

Yixing's mouthing at his jaw and Jongdae's tensing in his hold, in his lap, in his skin. His eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and his mouth open and wet, he gives his body completely to the altar behind him and the man in front of him. His voice melds with the smoke that's long gone out, it's drifting towards the ceiling and bouncing off the beams. Jongdae's a man praying to the only god in the room. 

He's pushing his hips into Yixing's hand and becoming a desperate chorus of prayers that value the want and the skin and the carnal and Yixing's kissing him filthy and open. 

Jongdae's flushed completely from the throat to the chest and his thighs are shaking and Yixing is relentless, with his fingers he brushes back and forth across the rings, jostling them and Jongdae can't take a proper breath, his cock leaking thick and clear and eyes shut tight, brows drawn together. 

"Jongdae," Yixing says with what little breath he has, Jongdae seems to have sucked it all from the room. He watches Jongdae's eyes open half and blinking like the candles behind him. "You are everything to me," he says and Jongdae shudders and breaks apart in Yixing's hands and it's okay because Yixing is the only one that can pull him back together. His cock dribbles white down Yixing's fingers and knuckles. 

Yixing kisses the exhaustion from Jongdae's eyes and the pink from his skin, from his cock until he’s completely soft and nestled back in Yixing's lap, arms hanging loosely over Yixing's shoulders. 

"I'll be going to the other shrines Jongdae," Yixing says watching the candles flicker. One has already gone out. 

"I'll go with you," Jongdae murmurs. 

"It's okay, you should stay here."

"When will you be back?"

"In two weeks time," Yixing says holding him close. "This is your temple to watch over. You'll barely have time to miss me,"

"Oh, but I will," Jongdae says quietly. 

"Oh, but I will," Yixing repeats. He kisses the crown of Jongdae's head.

…

The Temple of the Sheep is two villages to the north, Yixing's never been this far north despite the childhood obsession and despite that there's still something about it that Yixing feels nostalgic about. 

Made up of high mountainous pillars, many of which are crumbled and a circular atrium of once polished pine. Now it sits upon its own hill in near ruin. Yixing slips inside and makes his way to the altar. 

Sheep masks cover the granite floors, painted and carved and remnants of paper even, some lay broken and some scuffed beyond recognition. All of that pales in comparison to the statue that sits in the back of the room before the proper altar. Four mountain sheep, each on their own stone plinths, form their own rugged tableau with curved horns bigger than any real mountain sheep Yixing's ever seen, many of them are broken off. Their eyes are glossy pearls that some appear to no longer have. 

Yixing sits before it and clears the area in front of the altar until he finds it satisfactory enough to set out the mat and candles and incense once more and begin the process all over again. As soon as he's closed the prayer process, he feels part of himself empty, suddenly missing the familiarity of the temple that which he calls home and the body within it. 

He leaves before anyone notices him, anyone that comes in will see the incense and upon the custom mat, the offerings, this time a twined bundle of thyme and rosemary and sage and saffron, along with ripened golden pears and a stone kettle of green tea. He'd bought it all in the villages closest. The tenant prayer of the sheep is one of gentle strength and hospitality. 

Yixing keeps a close track of his progress, each temple is a step closer back to home, back to his brothers, back to his mother. 

There are signs of vigilante devotees taking it upon themselves to worship just like Yixing did. The Temple of the Heron, closest to the coast down south, was cleared of debris and the heron standing in the middle of the atrium, larger than life, is decorated with garlands of blossoms around its longneck and around its plinth.

The Temple of the Snake had walls rebuilt and as Yixing came to learn, thriving crowds of lucky bamboo that lined each wall as a usual fixture, the temple of a long and narrow shape. 

It gave Yixing hope to see the careful rebuilding, that the condescension wasn't all just him, that he wasn't crazy for thinking of the order as a bad decision.

The Temple of the Bear however, broke his heart. He crested the hill to find it completely burnt to the ground, what Yixing was sure was the statue of the bear, stood an indecipherable mound of rubble along with its plinth. Yixing found it incredibly difficult to pray for his father there in front of what was left of the altar. But he sucked in a sharp breath and cleared his mind and did it. 

Seeing among the rubble, carefully placed fresh red carnations, even then, almost brought Yixing to tears. He left more offerings there hoping that some villagers that visit will see it, things they could use: two large canteens of water, a basket over flowing with fresh ripe sweet berries and baked bread. All of it uptop the mat he'd embroidered with a black bear curled up within a circle of tall reaching bamboo. Protection. The sky behind it a comforting shade of the reddened horizon wishing luck and fortune. 

In the Temple of the Mouse in the west, Yixing found children that appeared to have no other home. He gave them the offerings, this time of fruits and water and blankets and finished his prayer quickly, he'd told them to tell the villagers that rebuilding this temple is no longer prohibited by the emperor, to tell anyone that will listen. The temple is simply empty, a few places in need of renovation but a good place for the children to stay out of the elements. Looking at them, he feels a pang for his crown prince, he's only five. 

The rest pass without incident, the temples of the panda, down north from that of the ox and the rooster, monkey, and dog along the coast take Yixing the last week with little rest. 

He barely makes it to the Temple of the Deer on time, just hours before the planned funeral. He wishes he'd had the time to take a quick detour to this own temple but he figures it'll make the reunion just that bit sweeter even if his heart aches. 

The Temple of the Deer looms there, of towering polished yellow dyed wooden panels and bright red drip tiles. Compared to the others, it is nearly a palace in and of itself. Having never been evacuated and demolished, even the outside is decorated with lines of blooms and decorative embroidered banners and offerings. 

The royal guard kneels when he approaches and Yixing's jarred back into his reality. He is the emperor and everyone inside parts and kneels too. Even though he looks travel worn and exhausted. He'd stopped very briefly at the palace for the appropriate clothing of white that he almost trips over. Next to him, is the crown prince that he holds by the hand, he's so small in Yixing's arms and when Yixing walks him forward, he follows with a hesitation that makes Yixing's chest ache. While he was stubborn with his mother, Jongin is timid and skittish. 

As a part of the procession, the empress kneels behind them and prays as they pray. Her veil is longer than when he left, an elaborate lace pattern of threaded vines over the thin layer of gossamer. 

Yixing pats Jongin on the head and helps him place his small offering of oranges onto the mat of a female deer sleeping at the base of a gingko sapling in the clearing of a small flower bed, Yixing it unrolls there in front of the large statue of a buck with antlers that reach up and across the tiled ceilings like tree branches. 

Together Yixing leads the prayer to the tenants of the deer and Jongin's lip trembles but he says the last line after Yixing asks him. 

"May you grant him safe passage," he repeats after Yixing in a tiny voice that flickers like the candle. 

Yixing closes the prayer after they bow deep one more time and the visitors allow them to leave in silence, still kneeling until they have left the room. 

From there they are to go straight to palace and the funeral procession proper. It's a path that leads from the back of the palace, private and lined with tall elm and yew, along the hillside. The former emperor is covered in bright red decorative cloth in the palanquin ahead of Yixing who watches it lead. Behind him are the queen mother and the empress herself and the crown prince. And behind them are his three other brothers who lead the royal guard. 

There is no current spiritual advisor, Yixing saw to it that he was dismissed for not other reason than that he didn’t agree to the way he saw things. 

The king's clearing exists almost as a microcosm of the twelve faith system, a grand tableau of all twelve animals together on one plinth along the back wall of a modestly furnished mausoleum made up of bright red arches and beams and jade inset in the door handles. The walls are intricately carved stone tile of each animal, behind which lie shelves and on each shelf is an emperor laid to rest in their own ornate urn behind their respective guide. 

Only Yixing and the empress are allowed inside to light the welcoming incense and prayer once more with their foreheads to the wood boards. Yixing can hear her sniffling next to him. 

"He will pass on safely," he tells her once he's closed the prayer. She inhales a deep shuddering breath and nods to him. 

Yixing finds it ironic that the king will rest behind this stone tile when he appeared to detest the very system that now harbors his spirit. 

Yixing believes the emperor was just like him, he just never got the support in time and it destroyed him. 

Yixing pities him more than anything. But even he swallows that down as the King is burned on top of a neat stack of decorated elm logs and they all stand there and mourn in silence as the fire roars like the wind and serves to warm the clearing to welcome the spirit home to place that isn't cold and alone. 

"May we rest His Majesty properly where he belongs," Yixing says once the fire has died nearly hours later. 

He looks upon all of them in white. The same fleet from weeks earlier only now just as battle worn and much smaller. Half the council is tasked with leading the general procession back at the palace. 

"Yes, Your Majesty," they kneel to him and Yixing feels more sad than powerful, the same way he does when the urn, painted in swirls of green and blue ink is placed behind the tile of the cat. 

Same when Yixing is officially enthroned and he's kneeling in front of the head of his council as they press a golden pin dotted with pearls into his head piece. 

He looks into the sea of faces and he feels unsure but more sure than he's ever been. His brothers look proud, all of them bowing deep in the courtyard that faces the palace. All of the council is here and all of the palace staff is too. The empress sits in the matching throne, all of her is red, all of her is fortune. She is simply present as a witness, he concedes her role mere weeks later. 

All of them bow at once the moment his head of council asks that they hail their new king. 

And all of them do. 

"All hail His Majesty,"

"All hail His Majesty,"

"All hail His Majesty,"

Yixing lets the calls suffuse him, lets them consume the doubt like the way the roaring fire consumed the emperor, like the incense burning away the bamboo, like Jongdae's mouth swallowing his breath. 

…

"...The mouse is cunning and clever," Baekhyun's saying, fluttering his fingers for the dramatics. 

"Do you like the mouse?" Yixing asks Jongin who's sitting on his hip in Yixing's arms as they walk the palace grounds.

Jongin pouts and shakes his head. 

"Why not little prince?" Yixing says searching Jongin's eyes. His face is round and soft and gently pink in the cheeks.

"Because the mouse was mean for withholding his food from the other animals," Baekhyun says, looking at Jongin for acknowledgment. Jongin holds tight to the front of Yixing's robe. 

"The mouse does have babies to feed," Yixing notes, but Baekhyun frowns. 

"Even the ox shared his food, and all he had was grass pretty much," Baekhyun says smiling all too wide. 

"I think you take these folktales too seriously," Yixing says chuckling, "Right?" Yixing looks at Jongin, "Isn't your uncle just irrational?"

Jongin giggles and Baekhyun eyes go comically wide, "That's not how His Majesty should act," he says but there's no bite. "Besides I’m sure he's tired of that one."

"His favorite is the one about the deer helping the bear understand the how the heron flies. Isn't it Jongin?" Yixing smiles at him and Jongin nods eagerly. 

"I see," Baekhyun says rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "how would you like to hear that one later before bed then?"

"Yes, please," Jongin says in his tiny voice that makes Yixing just want to pinch his cheeks. 

"You've got a deal," Baekhyun's smile is rectangular and wide and contagious. By then they've circled back to the main entrance of the palace. It's only been two weeks since the funeral and Yixing had completely underestimated the amount of work the job demanded. He'd wake early and fall asleep as soon as he hit the bed, usually much later than he wanted. 

Too exhausted to even properly feel the ache in his chest over missing Jongdae. 

Two weeks and about three since the announcement properly spread that the decoration and reinstatement of the temples was legal again to coincide with the tradition of decoration towards the end of the summer festivals. Yixing had even sent some of his own men to help with rebuilding the bear temple from the ground up once more. It gave Yixing credibility to actively seek improving the damage that was done by his father. 

Yixing hadn't been to any temple in about a month now, he's simply too busy to even sneak out. Not that he realistically could without creating an actual emergency. 

He's eager to see the way the temples have improved even if it means that it's through the reports of his men that do his footwork these days. 

Yixing catches a break at the very end of autumn festival season, it may be the end of it but he was still able to enjoy the one festival planned at the palace. The courtyard covered in bamboo mats and a sea of orange lanterns and banners celebrating the gods and hoping for a bountiful harvest come spring. Minseok had performed his rendition of the zither piece they'd worked on all those months ago. Only instead of Yixing accompanying him, it's Sehun now playing the second part. 

Suddenly the man is young and spritely, he jumps the river in one smooth leap. The sun is bright on the dewy grass and the fish below are giving him encouragement as he crosses. That he'll find what he was meant to find even if it's a long journey. 

Sehun's accompaniment is bouncy and jaunty, he matches Minseok's years of experience with an energy only he could muster.

Baekhyun performs a traditional dance backed by some dancers from the village below, his form is graceful and fleeting in each emotion, he makes the constant movement, the stretch and shift of each muscle look effortless.

After he's bowed and Yixing has lead the round of applause, Baekhyun holds both arms out and Jongin runs to him, Baekhyun picks him up beneath the arms and spins him around. Jongin's antlers are still peach fuzz, still stubs but two inches longer than they were at his birth, there's even a second nub at the side of both, it'll begin to branch in the next year. Jongin had been absolutely enamored watching Baekhyun practice, Yixing hopes it was able to foster something in him, a form of expression for him to go to when things got difficult. Baekhyun says he wants to teach him soon come the new year.

Together, Yixing leads the prayer to the deer god to guide them into a prosperous new year. All of them kneeling before Yixing with Yixing the last to kneel once he finishes the prayer in front of the large tapestry of a deer surrounded by red and yellow blossoms, it's climbing a steep hillside seemingly effortlessly. Yixing had made to double check himself and affirm that the era of the deer was in fact correct.

He's glad that wasn't wrong. Jongin learns and laughs and becomes his pride.

Minseok pulls at Yixing's sleeve as the night winds down and everyone's simply conversing casually not paying any attention to him, he's mostly just listening.

"You miss temple don't you?" Minseok says near his ear and Yixing feels a pang in his chest.

"I do," is all he says and Minseok smiles.

"The villagers have already gone back down the mountain for the night, I'm sure a little excursion could be arranged," Minseok says. "They speak of the mighty god that resides there and how strong and power it is. How gentle it is. They think, however, that it's more sluggish than usual. Like it's missing something."

Yixing frowns, his brows dipping. "I never meant to—"

"I'm sure the god knows that more than any of us Yixing. It misses their first renovator and the food he'd bring," Minseok says his lip curled, a little knowing.

"When can I go?"

"Tonight Your Majesty," Minseok says, "I'll have to escort you there since it would be against protocol to just let you go alone but I'll leave you to it once we get there, you'll meet me back at the gate to the palace when you're done won't you?"

"Yes," Yixing breathes. "We'll wrap up here and then go."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Minseok bows and then stands and then he's back on the other side of the courtyard conversing with Jongin's older sister, a lady in her own right.

The lanterns are left out until morning and everyone else leaves to turn in for the night Yixing is the first escorted off the courtyard, after making it to his quarters he asks for a few packaged offerings as he wishes to visit temple and make a few of his own in privacy.

Yixing's packing the satchel on to the side of his saddle, the chestnut is restless having not had Yixing ride them properly in over a month. Yixing smooths down its neck with a gentle hand.

Minseok shows up a few minutes later with the confirmation that he will be escorting him there at least.

"What does it look like Minseok?" Yixing says, he can barely see Minseok if it weren't for the lantern Minseok holds over his horse's head.

"It's beautiful," Minseok says softly. "What it should've been for so long Yixing ge," he pauses, "You'll be proud."

Yixing can seldom imagine what it must look like so he doesn't express it.

"The cat," Yixing says in the half darkness. "The god walks within him."

Minseok perks up, "Oh do they?"

"Perhaps more than anyone," Yixing says fondly.

"I'll take your word for it."

"I belong to him," Yixing admits not looking at Minseok. He barely notices Minseok's horse shift closer and then Minseok's patting his shoulder.

"You shouldn't have been away so long Yixing ge," Minseok says, "The emperor and his god," he whistles low, "Yixing you made this right and I think you've both helped each other in ways you both don't even completely know yet,"

"Except I do know," Yixing smiles, "he breathed life back into me."

Minseok's silent but he's looking at Yixing with an expression of pure affection and adoration.

"That's one thing to be proud of more than anything else ge," Minseok says at last, "more than anything, you're living for your own reasons now. There's nothing left to prove and he's taught you that hasn't he?"

"He has," Yixing looks up into the ink of the sky, the small dots like lanterns of stars speckled above him, tries to keep the tears inside him.

They continue the rest of the journey in a pleasant silence simply listening to the hooves of their horses strike the dirt and the sounds of branches swaying in the gentle wind and the unusual warmth for the late autumn night. The side of the hill gives them both a look at the village below nestled in the trees, lit up by the gentle orange glow of lanterns, if they listen they can hear incoherent exclaims and shouts, all of them in celebration and maybe a drink too many. The hill dips then begins to climb once again before long and Yixing knows the temple is near, he can see the dark peak of it rising through the trees at the crest of the hill.

"This is where I leave you ge," Minseok says one they've gotten close enough the temple gate is in eyesight. He stops his horse and Yixing does too. "I'll be right at the outside gate for you all right? Ready to take you back to the palace when you're ready," he smiles and reaches out a hand to cover Yixing's on the rein, he squeezes it briefly.

"Thank you," Yixing says before he continues on ahead. By now there's a glow coming off the temple lighting his way through the shroud of trees. A glow Yixing hasn't seen in a long while. He has his own lantern attached the saddle and unlit, he'll use it on his way back to Minseok.

But now Yixing reaches the clearing and the gate, the gate is decorated with swirls of ribbon, the edges ruffle in the cool wind. He pushes it open, and leads his horse inside. He ties it where he always has, to a thick low branch of the elm just inside the gate before he makes his way to the temple that's looming before him.

There are lines of lanterns reaching from the tree branches to the awning tiles that hang over the edges, they're beautifully colored paper crafted into the long ribbed ovals, many of which notes hang from the middle bar within, they are notes of hope and devotion and prayer, they are notes of love. The sides of the stairs are littered with offerings, flowers and decorative boxes and hand sewn cat dolls and rice cakes.

Inside Yixing is almost brought to tears.

The shelves that line the walls and the walls themselves, across the floor, are covered in burning candles and more offerings, more than Yixing could ever count. Among the shelves are new figures he's never seen before, newly crafted from elm and pine and camphor, even paper dolls with a child's scrawl across them.

The altar is a flood of prayer blossoms and golden primrose in every crevice of the statue, even the garland they'd put around the necks of the cats so long ago are still there. Even along the plinth and below it are a sea of flowers that part beautifully in the middle to create a spot for those to bow and pray. All on top of a large elaborately woven piece that Yixing can't completely see the picture of—

There standing in the clearing is Jongdae, he's in those robes Yixing brought for him all those months ago. The threads glossy and shining orange in the candle light. And his hair is still messy, almost covering his eyes and deep golden brown in the glow of the temple.

Yixing is walking as fast as his legs can take him across the length of the room until he's got Jongdae in his arms and Jongdae is already heaving in his arms, muffling his noises into Yixing's shoulder.

Yixing feels his throat clench up, something in his chest expanding with a warmth he hasn't felt in almost two months.

"You didn't forget about me did you?" Jongdae says in a none too steady voice, his fingers digging into the back of Yixing's clothes.

"Not once," Yixing says quietly into the crown of his head.

"I thought about you everyday. I stayed right here waiting for you," Jongdae says his own throat going tight. "There isn't a prayer that means as much to me as yours."

"Jongdae," Yixing says, "I prayed to you every night I couldn't come."

Yixing closes his eyes and simply lets Jongdae envelop him, warm him through from the cool outside. He smells like forest and peonies and the gentle melted wax oils. He doesn't want to move, not even when morning comes.

"I need to place my offering still," Yixing says after a few moments of comfortable silence, he's still got his arms around Jongdae.

Jongdae pouts, "I'll take you," he says lips curled playfully.

Yixing his head, "Still shameless," he chuckles.

"A god can be shameless," Jongdae says as he pulls away, just enough to look Yixing in the face, "Selfish even." He pauses, "or how else would they have brought their creations to light? For if a god is unable, then is it all but impossible?"

"You speak as a god and not as a mortal simply given attributes." Yixing pulls Jongdae forward by the knotted sash, "attributes through which they are to choose what is right and what is wrong."

"You're right too," Jongdae murmurs, "both sides inside me operate on two different planes, they conflict, they fight and they barely fit together. The only thing they agree on," He looks into Yixing's face, searches his eyes, "is the lonely emperor up the mountain," his own dark and open.

Yixing slides their lips together and it feels like he's finally arrived where he belongs, where he feels most whole. Jongdae's mouth is slow and savoring, he's almost breathing Yixing in more than kissing him.

Yixing takes Jongdae's breath into him and revels in the way they already feel at their most calm and their most electric.

When Yixing pulls away, Jongdae's mouth is wet and shining with his and Yixing's spit. Jongdae's silent when he steps to the side, his hand lingering on the edge of Yixing's sleeve now, following him down when Yixing kneels to pray.

This time he stays silent, simply shutting his eyes as he bends at the waist and touches his forehead to the floor. When he rises, he takes the offerings from his satchel from around his shoulder and pushes the bundles forward, he bows again and when he rises he places two of his own candles in front of himself and the lights them. He bows again before he rises and pushes those forwards too. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, Jongdae is squatting in front of him.

With gentle fingers, he touches to Yixing's forehead, his chin, his throat and then his chest, closing the prayer for him. Jongdae follows the touch of his fingers with his lips. A soft brush at his forehead, for devotion, at his chin for continued gratitude, his throat for fortune, and his chest for life.

Yixing watches Jongdae rise and then circle him, he can't see Jongdae behind him, but he stays still.

Jongdae's fingers are light uptop his head, pulling the pearl pin free from the head piece and pulling it up so softly. Yixing's hair falls forward and back over his forehead and his crown in a smooth rivulet.

Jongdae places the pin gently aside. Then his hands are sliding down over Yixing's front to the knotted sash. He's pulling it methodically free, his fingers sliding snugly into the folds of vivid red and the patterns of gold that light up against the candles.

He folds the thick band of cloth in reverent hands and places it near the pin and then his hands are sliding down beneath the cloth of his robe, spreading it open. His spread palms warm against Yixing's skin, against Yixing's steady beating heart. His fingers sliding past smooth and gently slick with sweat skin and the peaks of nipples, the firm pliable muscle of his stomach.

And then he's pulling back, withdrawing his hands as Yixing's mouth falls gently open, the tips of Jongdae's hands tracing Yixing's throat and then the hard line of his jaw to his temples and then completely away.

Yixing feels completely consumed by him, suddenly Jongdae is every bit the altar cat behind him, the same one that faces him as he's stripped completely of clothes and identity until all he is is Jongdae's.

Completely Jongdae's.

Until he's on his back spread over the large offering mat, a mere king among the god's flowers and vines. Completely bare nestled in what's left of his status, a shroud of stiff red fabric and golden stitching. Jongdae wears the red well as he slides his hands up Yixing's arms, taking the sleeves with him.

Only once Yixing is only himself, does he reach up and pull at the knot at Jongdae's waist. He pulls it free and thus strips Jongdae until he's not even a god.

Until Jongdae is completely his.

Until Jongdae's robes are overlapping his like fire sputtering as it meets the ocean and they are two stones of sand melding and cooling as one.

When Yixing presses Jongdae back to the mat, the candles frame his head like a halo as if they haven't forgotten him as a god. His eyes are open and dark and bright in the face of the candles that flicker inside them.

Yixing mirrors Jongdae and kisses his forehead.

For devotion.

His chin. For continued gratitude.

His throat. For fortune.

His chest. For life.

Jongdae's curling his fingers along the sides of Yixing's face, pulling him back up briefly to slide his tongue in his mouth. To murmur his name between their breaths.

Yixing's mouthing at his belly, wet lips pressing through the clear precome glistening there like sweat from the stiff curl of his cock at his stomach. Jongdae inhales sharp, his eyelids fluttering when Yixing licks at the rings nestled at the crown beneath the head.

With his mouth he worships Jongdae's skin, the smooth shaft, the pink flushed head, the tuft of hair at the base. He slides his tongue up against the slit and watches Jongdae move his head back exposing his throat and the sweat sheen beading against the stretch of it as he chokes out a breath.

In that moment Jongdae is his mortal self, his hands white knuckled in Yixing's robes beneath him where his own are scrunched and crumple closer to his body. He is but an offering himself. The most visceral of skin and veins and bones, for the first time since he'd left the control of the temple, he belongs to them once more entirely.

The spread of Jongdae's thighs is obscene, they're already trembling and tinged golden in the glow of the temple. A spread open blossom to match the rest.

Yixing kisses at the back of his knees and along the stretch of muscle to his hips. Jongdae drags his fingers from Yixing's shoulders to his nape. He curls them in the damp hair there. Tightens hold when Yixing presses the tip of an oil coated finger past Jongdae's pink rim.

Yixing mouths at his hip and urges him to relax. Jongdae inhales sharp and shuddering before he settles almost limp in Yixing's hold.

Yixing continues until Jongdae's found his voice and Yixing's name is the only word he knows. His voice its own chorus only to praise Yixing.

His body bowing towards the heat pulling his gut taut until it's the only thing he can think about.

When Yixing pulls his fingers away, Jongdae is gasping, his chest heaving and his body shaking. Yixing moves back up to take him in his arms and Jongdae takes Yixing's face in his hands as soon as he's close enough to and presses their foreheads together.

Jongdae's breathing hard. His expression is one that's trying to tell Yixing something without opening his mouth. Yixing kisses his nose and his lips, a quick barely there touch before he sits back and takes Jongdae hand in his.

He kisses the warm open palm with lips that if he closes his eyes, he's placing his own red rosettes into them. The pad of each finger with the same gentle pressure, each is a petal. A tiny offering in and of itself that he hopes Jongdae keeps when he curls his hand carefully closed.

The way when Yixing makes to pull back and Jongdae grasps his hand in return and he does the same. With each touch of his lips, he imparts what he hopes is a blessing and a love that only he can give, that only Yixing can recieve.

Jongdae kisses Yixing's belly and swallows down his cock, the playful curl of his lips still visible even when stretched around the head.

He hovers over Yixing now, towering over him like the sculpture itself and every bit as beautiful. Jongdae slides down on him feeling his very breath pushed out through his throat, nearly blistering. He shifts his hips and attempts to measure his breaths until they fit and push and pull against Yixing's in the same barely broken rhythm.

Yixing's heart is beating hard in his chest, against Jongdae's hand where he's holding on as if Yixing's body would give it to him if he could.

Jongdae's body curves towards Yixing as if it were trying to give back to him, to give him even a fraction of the energy he's barely holding onto. He's digging his hands into Yixing's skin now with blunt nails. He leaves little half moon marks there against his chest.

When Yixing switches their positions and Jongdae's on his knees and the color block of black at his nape is solid and inky as the sky outside, shifting above his shoulder blades like the rolling hills leading from the temple, Yixing can feel himself slipping away, pulling Jongdae with him until Jongdae's groaning with an insistence that's making Yixing's stomach muscles jump and his own breaths shudder.

He covers Jongdae's body with his own, curved right over him caging both of them in with a sharp heat that soars through Jongdae's every limb and he comes on a cry that renders Yixing breathless with the way it breaks in the air and seems to float up among the beams as if the he were the temple and every noise is a part of him too and Yixing had been pulling him together all this time. The only one with the knowledge to truly break him apart simultaneously.

Yixing follows him none too gently, his hips reckless and haphazard with the way he chases it and hurdles over, droplets of milky white on Jongdae's thighs when he pulls away and gathers Jongdae back into his arms.

Jongdae's laughing a little against his throat and his eyelids are drooping.

"Will you still be here when I wake?"

"Yes."

…

Yixing doesn't see him for nearly six months. Being emperor demands his every waking moment that not even Minseok can sneak him out anymore. They check on the temple in his stead which he is incredibly grateful for.

"He says you're being pretty withholding with your visits," Baekhyun says at the two month mark.

"I can't—"

"He knows ge, you know he loves to tease you."

Yixing huffs, "But I still feel guilty about it."

"Things will work out sooner than later, Nini's growing up so well ge, he's really taking after you. The country will be in good hands."

"He's still a child."

"In about ten, twenty years then," he comes in closer when Yixing's expression just drops farther than Baekhyun thought possible. "—I mean, you'll be able to see him more often. Don't worry. He's not going anywhere and neither are you—you know what I mean. That he's—"

"I know," Yixing frowns, "but it doesn’t hurt any less."

This time Baekhyun covers Yixing's hand with his own over his desk. "I'm sorry ge. You'll be with him before you know it and you'll have all the time in the world," He gives Yixing's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I promise."

…

It's April and it's Jongin's 6th birthday, while his mother is not the empress, she is simply a lady and Yixing had relegated her to her own private quarters where she doesn't have to deal with any more palace politics that may come up. Especially ones that seek to discredit Jongin as the crown prince as he's not Yixing's direct son.

Yixing holds his hand as they walk to the Temple of the Deer. It's a private prayer ceremony Yixing wanted to bring him for. Yixing lets Jongin place more oranges at the altar and together they pray. Yixing kisses Jongin on the forehead and prays he grows up well and strong and confident.

Yixing stays to pray a little longer, perhaps to a god through which the deer could mediate a message.

"Stay close Nini," Yixing says, "Do you promise to stay near the temple?"

When Jongin gives him a small nod while he buries his hands in the cloth of his own decorative robe. Yixing gives him another kiss and lets him go off to play a little until he's done.

Yixing wishes he could go down the mountain and give the prayer in person but from Jongin's favorite story that portrays the deer as a facilitator to the rest of the animals, Yixing feels a comfort here that he wouldn't have before.

He pats his pocket and finds a stray orange he hadn't given Jongin so he places it at the altar himself and then closes his prayer process.

"Jongin?" Yixing stands, "Nini, my little prince, where have you gone?" When he doesn't see Jongin near the entrance, he figures maybe Jongin wandered off to into the courtyard.

It's much more hilly than the Temple of the Cat, it’s dotted with apple and orange trees and new blooms that denote infant fruit bulbs growing at the stem. It's still a little chilly and dew still gathers on the bright leaves in the early crisp morning.

"Nini, your mother expects you later—" he catches a flash of black through the trees and he hurries forward, he hears Jongin's laugh and something's already beginning to swell in his chest.

"Jongin, what are you—"

Yixing rounds a heavy tree trunk and Jongin's pushing with his little hands at the forehead of a large black cat, he's giggling and calling it kitty.

Jongdae licks Jongin's cheek and bunts at his arm gently.

"Temple Cat," Yixing says squatting in front of Jongin and reaching his hand out.

Jongdae slides his head immediately beneath Yixing's hand and closes his eyes.

"Are you friends with this kitty ge?" Jongin says looking at Jongdae with a wonder in his wide eyes.

Yixing smiles, "You could say that," he pulls Jongin to him and presses a kiss to his temple. "This is the guardian of the temple down the mountain Nini. Do you know which one that is?"

Jongin's little mouth opens, trembles just minutely in hesitation before he says, "... The cat?"

"Yes, the cat," Yixing smiles wide and ruffles his hair. Jongdae sits there in front of both of them, licks his snout with a broad pink tongue once. "This cat will protect you my little prince, don't forget that." Yixing says to him. "Do you want to pet him?" Yixing holds up his hand and Jongin looks at it before he raises his own and Yixing holds him around the waist when he reaches forward. Jongdae bows his head and meets Jongin's hand and Jongin smiles so wide Yixing's throat constricts a little.

"This is the cat from those stories Nini." And he watches Jongin's eyes just light up. His mouth going wide.

"You helped the mouse swim the ocean?"

Jongdae gives Yixing a pointed look but he still nods his head gently and Jongin's in complete awe.

"You helped the deer find his last apple?"

Jongdae nods again.

"I like the cat ge, I really really like the cat."

Yixing blinks and Jongin is 24 and he's just been crowned as the emperor at Yixing's behest. Yixing steps down and becomes his spiritual advisor and relegates himself to peace and less work and more prayer.

He finds himself on that path, his chestnut is getting older just like him. It's a slower walk, one that allows him to take a longer look at the swaying trees and the rabbits that dart through the grasses and the birds trilling in the branches.

When Yixing opens the gate, he’s met with so many little trills and mewls of white kittens and orange kittens and longhairs that emerge from beneath the stairs in the courtyard.

He squats and sets out his offering of chicken chunks and a bowl through which he pours some water from his canteen and heads into the temple while they eat.

The cats are just as big, just as looming as they've always been. The shelves and the walls are still filled to the brim with offerings and prayer cards. Yixing prays quietly and lights a single candle that he will blow out before he leaves.

Yixing prays for continued peace and an easy life for Jongin, he thanks them for helping him find peace. For helping him let go of the guilt that ate away at him so intensely for so long.

The barracks are furnished now with new soft sheets and sleeping mats, sometimes travelers stay there for refuge in their journeys.

Yixing stops at the window. It's still the same with the potted plant at the sill but it’s blooming with primrose and there's a few new figures there carved from yew, a little porcelain cat painted with a black triangle between its ears.

He spots a cat emerging from the tree line.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk look up a male cat's "anatomy" and im sure you'll figure out what that was meant to be bye idk want to talk about it. 
> 
> I'd like to thank my suho for helping me through this bc without you and you sending me photos of jongin I wouldn't have finished this. I had like three separate breakdowns during this process so thank you so much for keeping me going. thanks for being there from its conception, since yixing was just a humble traveling wizard who came across a little black cat that wanted a home, to this that became longer than i ever thought it would so thank you <3


End file.
